


The Weather Don't Mind

by CaptainMercy42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, As it should be, M/M, Omega Dean, Other, Slow Burn, Wim Hof, fitness trainer dean, ha jk, impotent cas, omegaverse AU, retired soldier cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-06-08 07:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15238671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainMercy42/pseuds/CaptainMercy42
Summary: Twenty-five year old Dean Winchester is an Omega inspiration. At least, he tried to be.  His reaction to his new client is turning him into all types of trite stereotypes.Thirty-nine year old Castiel is an impotent Alpha who has lost his sense of smell.  His new personal trainer is a baby Alpha assbutt.  Perhaps he will finally get to see red again when he loses his patience and tries to pommel the man-child in his stupid, perfect face.





	1. Snow Problemo

**Author's Note:**

> The Omegaverse!!!!!
> 
> This is a WIP. But is there anything better than a lost-sense-of-smell Omegaverse trope?! I don't think so! Hopefully I can get myself to the juicy stuff soon!
> 
> (Sorry if I start getting preachy with the birth control stuff. Your body is YOUR body and you know what's right. Unfortunately, the Western medical community doesn't really exist to back you up. At all. And some birth controls just straight up turn off your galbladder function, which is really helpful to your biological life and digestion of our modern diet. So there's that. Knowledge is power!)

By average standards, Dean would be considered generously muscled if he were an alpha, but as an Omega, his physique was nearly unheard of.  That was too bad, as far as Dean was concerned. He thought he looked great: strong, rugged, and capable. Beta girls (and some of the guys) thought he was the shit. Omegas, male and female, hit on him all the time, despite their mirrored pheromones. Alphas- well there was a certain quiet minority of trust fund, “traditional” types that still regarded omegas as nothing more than a status-boosting alpha accessory. Dean knew they existed. Luckily, he didn't really run into that type of alpha in his daily life, so the fact that these chauvinists were probably all sitting around in a sauna tiled with gold bullion, ready to scorn him and other capable omegas like him, didn't really mean much. Dean worked in a gym at a strip mall. He kept it real. Real alphas thought Dean looked and smelled real nice. 

“Looking good, Winchester!” A sharp female voice rang out, which made Dean huff a laugh of foggy mist out in front of him. Pam had been informed by her all-seeing home health aide that Dean was running through the winter weather with too little clothing, and she thought it was a hoot. She had even once had her helper set up a lawn chair so that she could be out sunbathing in her bikini as Dean went by. It was 17° Fahrenheit that day, and Dean had never been prouder. It wasn't every day that someone stripped to their skivvies and wandered into the cold just because you told them it was healthy. 

Only, it  _ was _ nearly everyday, for Dean. Because that was his job at the strip mall. He was a certified Wim Hof* trained athletic consultant. He'd gone to Poland. He'd jumped in the icy lake. He'd climbed the icy mountain in nothing but boots and some swim trunks. He'd learned to breath, to meditate, and to warm his core enough to get the melting snow and ice to steam off of his skin. He'd been called a “mother-fucker!” by an enthusiastic Swedish Beta man, and it was one of the defining experiences of his life. 

When Dean arrived at the Wim Hof training program, he was 22 years old, in a bit of shock from learning that his little brother Sammy's college tuition would all be paid for thanks to some generous scholarships. This left Dean with a decent savings, and a wide-open future that he had always forgotten to consider as he worked 60 hours a week and maintained his and Sam's roomy apartment.

_ Well, you like to work out,  _ Sam had said, simply. He had stood four inches above Dean in his cap and gown, with no qualms about making a piece of his special day suddenly all about Dean.  _ Why not get some kind of certificate and start training people? You're good with people. They like you. _

Sam was going to make a damn fine lawyer someday, because there were absolutely no holes in that argument. It was a great idea. Simple, but so perfectly suited to play to Dean's strengths, he never would have come up with it on his own. 

As if by fate, Ash sent him over an interesting podcast about cold therapy, and the benefits of ice baths for athletes, that afternoon, and the rest was history. 

The wind picked up as Dean jogged out of the safety of a copse of trees, and he sucked in a breath, consciously turning the gasp into an longer draw, and clamping down on the urge to shiver. 

_ I am the darkness _

_ I am the light _

_ I am the blizzard _

_ The blizzard is white _

Dean chanted the words in his head, in rhythm with his steps. He didn't know where they had come from, but he'd picked them up somewhere along the way, and it was easier to match the rhyme to his pace than match his pace to whatever 80's hair metal tune he had on his iPod. 

He concentrated on the space between his ears, willing his pituitary gland to signal for more heat to run through his core. Perhaps it was all in his imagination, but he felt a warmth bloom at the base of his spine and branch out over his shoulders. Placebo or not, it was fucking awesome. He wasn't just another faltering Omega. He refused to be a victim of his own body. He wasn't even on suppressants. 

Yes, yes. Dean Winchester would fight to the death for a woman's right to choose, and an Omega’s right to suppress.  Or even an Alpha’s right to suppress. However, his friend Charlie had gotten all activist-y on him one day with a rant about how the cultural shift that led to the concept that humans have sex  primarily for physical pleasure effectively tore the focus away from the female and Omega’s biological need to reproduce (i.e. the heat), and replaced it with the ultimate mission to satiate the urges and ruts of men and alphas.

So Dean exercised his right to choose not to be on suppressants. He declined synthetic hormone therapy, when offered. Not for nothing, but the pill made Omegas smell like they were masking the fact that they were on the verge of a caffeine and crack fueled heat, every single day. Everyone was used to it just being the way young omegas smelled, by now, but it was kind of cloying. Dean, on the other hand, cycled naturally, which meant he got about six weeks of smelling like an apple-sweet almost-beta, unless you actually smashed your face into his neck and breathed in. Turns out when you didn't bother to science your body up, it didn't scream out to be mated at random times when you weren't actually ovulating. Imagine that.

Yeah there was also that whole thing where Dean was supposed to worry about getting attacked by alphas when he was actually in heat. It's not like it was a joke. It actually had almost happened to Dean before. He was out trolling for a beta or another Omega to help him through, when this ultra-traditional Alpha woman named Abaddon started demanding he leave with her so that he could “cease to be such a flagrant disgrace” and “submit to a real alpha the way bitches were meant to.”

Yeah, that lady was a piece of work. Dean could've wiped the floor with her gaudy red hair, mid-heat, with one hand tied behind his back. But the whole personal trainer thing had been going really well, so he settled for having her arrested. Worked like a charm when the cute arresting officer mentioned she just happened to have the next three days off. 

_ I am the darkness _

_ I am the light _

_ I gotta stop thinking about Donna in a strap-on, or I'm gonna bite it on this ice. _

Dean laughed at himself. Donna had a cherubic face, with silky blonde hair that draped all over Dean like honey as she took him apart like it was a biological imperative. It wasn't, at least, not the way they were doing it, but that wasn't the last time Dean rang up his favorite sheriff with some wetness in his drawers.

So where were we? Right. Dean jogs through the snow with the greatest of ease. He's an Omega on the top of his game, and his life is pretty awesome. 

He jogged up the steps to his apartment, which he didn't even share with Sammy, anymore, and high-tailed it to the shower. He let the water run until it was steaming and hot as he peeled off his shorts and white tube socks. He stepped over the rim of his bathtub and into the spray, jolting a little as the hot water hit his cool skin. 

_ I am the blizzard,  _ he breathed in, deeply.

_ The blizzard is white. _


	2. Breathe, Motherf*cker!

_ This is definitely one of those situations that would be labeled a “crock of shit”.  _

Castiel Novak stood on the curb and watched as a racially diverse group of five adult males of undetermined secondary genders alternated submerging themselves and cheering on/timing each other in two banged up cattle troughs full of what appeared to be icy water.  The troughs were set up in the sidewalk area in front of Zimno, the gym that he was unfortunately on his way to right then. 

The three men outside the tubs whooped as an alarm started beeping. The two who were soaking stood and attempted to get out of the water as quickly as possible. Two men took their place, while a young Asian man controlled  a large, red stopwatch, and almost looked as if he were the one in charge, if it weren't for the fact that he was most assuredly the youngest.

Zimno was not a place that Castiel had elected to go voluntarily. It was a prescription that had been written for him by a very upbeat Beta woman called Dr. Rosen. She had admitted that she'd never even seen the facility herself, but insisted that at this point, it was his best option. That admission alone just went to show Castiel how truly and utterly fucked up he really was. What would his incompetent doctors suggest next? A trip to the moon, perhaps? A swim with some dolphins? 

Castiel was caucasian, about six feet tall, with dark brown hair and light blue eyes. He was also, for the foreseeable future, a null. That meant, in the latest dictionary of politically correct terminology, that he was as dead downstairs as an impotent Beta, but suffered the added embarrassment of smelling distinctly like a failing Alpha. Oh how the mighty had fallen. 

What stung a little worse than phermonally broadcasting the ultimate virile failure, was that it wasn't the result of his genetics or hard living, or his own general incompetence. It was the result of his service. Twenty years in the military, training, fighting, and volunteering for the most grueling missions had resulted in this. Dire situations called for powerful stimulants. Time spent behind enemy lines called for army grade suppressants. Castiel hadn't smelled like himself since the end of the first week of bootcamp, when the RutStop they were adding to his food finally kicked in. Twenty years later, and he was all but abandoned by the government, with their condolences and full health coverage, which landed him in front of a trendy strip mall gym where people seemed to take part in highly regulated feats of minor discomfort, and consider themselves stronger for it. 

If he were prone to first-world blathering, he would wonder how exactly this was his life. 

Castiel trudged stoically through the glass door and up to the very utilitarian front counter. It looked like it had been hewn from a single tree trunk, no doubt axed to death by one of these suburban cowboys, anxious to prove his raw machismo. 

He was promptly greeted by the world's most picture perfect alpha male. Fuck his life. Here he was in need of sophisticated medical care, and he was about to request the advice of a Ken Doll who clearly spent all his free time “getting ripped”, if the arms coming out of the very unprofessional a-line tank top were anything to go by. Castiel flared his nostrils in annoyance, though he thankfully couldn't smell anyone anymore. He supposed that was a helpful side effect. It would have just felt like everyone was rubbing it in. 

“Hi. Can I help you?” The voice matched the drapes, even if it seemed out of place when paired with the youthful joi de vivre that twinkled under the man's long lashes. Huh. Not so manly with those flapping around, was he?

“I have orders.” Castiel plopped his paperwork on the counter, fantasizing that his orders were to infiltrate and destroy Zimno Athletics. The fitness model man-child picked them up and scanned them over.

“Okay. Well, welcome to Zimno. I'm Dean. I'm going to make you an account, and get some information, then we'll get you set up with a trainer.” Dean pulled up a section of the counter that was hinged, and gestured with a flick of his head for Castiel to come through.  He shut the counter behind them and stepped towards an outdated waiting room chair, set up next to a desk that held a sleek black laptop and a few Manila folders.

Castiel proceeded to give his name, age, primary and secondary gender, phone number, emergency contact, and home address. None of this warmed him towards the process, or this Dean person.

“So while we get a lot of medical referrals here, yours is-” Dean grimaced and considered his words, “in depth. Can you tell me what your looking to accomplish here?” Dean’s smile did not conceal that he was currently in over his head. This gave Castiel an evil thrill.

“You're asking me to put this in layman's terms for you?” He asked, with a hint of mockery, tempered only with his general disdain for young knot-heads. 

“Sure. That works. Go for it.” Dean didn't pick up on the implied condescension. Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“This is a last-ditch effort by a well-meaning but incompetent doctor to kick-start my alpha cycle, despite the fact that all the progress medical science has made in this field is to gift a beta male with an erection lasting four hours or more.” 

Dean's laughter was like a drive-by shooting that left Castiel warm and utterly baffled.

“Honest, skeptical, and kinda bitter. I can work with that. No problem. Let's set you up with a trainer. I've got Charlie free on weekdays, and Garth is willing to pick up time on weekdays or weekends. Though, Garth’s a Beta.” Dean looked up at Castiel and blinked expectantly. Castiel wondered if Dean even trained people, or if he was just an attractive secretary. “You're probably going to want to work with another Alpha. That's how we usually pair people up when they come in for therapy.”

Dean quirked a questioning eyebrow, then pointed to a bulletin board over his head, secured to the side wall and not immediately noticeable upon entry. Pictures of the Zimno staff smiled out at him, each one labeled with their first name. Charlie appeared to be a caucasian female, in face and hair, and Garth was the goofiest looking Beta that Castiel had ever seen.  His eyes wandered up and found Dean's picture, which honestly didn't do him justice. Castiel flexed his jaw. 

“You really think that my therapy would best be implemented by this alpha Charlie?” Castiel squinted at Dean. Dean swallowed.

“Well, I could-” Dean ran his hand over his short hair, and paused to scratch near his ear. “I mean, Charlie's super equipped. She might as well be a doctor.”

“What about you? Or do you focus on purely cosmetic instruction?”  Castiel glared at Dean.

“Uh. Yeah, okay.” Dean looked down at Castiel's orders, then back up, tilting his head, slightly. “I have to ask, without your Alpha cycle, you're having difficulty determining secondary genders through scent, right?”

“I no longer have any phermonal detection abilities.” Castiel answered, flatly.  Dean nodded slightly as he got ready to speak.

“Okay. Right. I can do your training. That'll be… fine, in this case.” Dean swiveled in his chair and clicked away on his laptop. Castiel began to look forward to having a front row seat to imminent failure of Dean the Zimno trainer.

“I got some literature here for you to read.” Dean launched out of his chair to stride over to a cardboard box full of books, shoved into the corner. Castiel watched him bend over in his khaki cargo shorts, and continued to feel cranky.


	3. Cold Showers

Dean had never needed a cold shower more than he did after meeting and registering Castiel fucking Novak. Jesus Christ, the Alpha sent Dean's carefully balanced hormones all out of whack, all while smelling like aluminum and despondence. Dean didn't even want to imagine what kind of effect the guy would have on him if he were healthy.

Let's begin with his looks. It was as if some kind of wrathful deity decided to start walking the earth wearing an Abercrombie & Fitch model as a meat suit. The fact that he was swimming around in a veritable zoot suit, under a sail of a dull camel trench coat did absolutely nothing to dull the ethereal beauty that shot, angrily, out of the man's blue eyes.

Next, this CasTeeEl announced that for 20 years, he was in the armed forces. Dean may have been attracted to all genders, colors, etc.; but there was really nothing like a beautiful alpha in uniform. It just did things to Dean. Castiel may as well have been dressed in scrubs and cowboy boots like his long-time crush from TV, Dr. Sexy. It just ticked off so many of Dean's likes.

And that voice. If Dean could just record the guy ordering him to wake up, he'd have the perfect alarm ringtone. He'd probably jump through a plate glass window on command, if Mr. Novak sarcastically rasped out the suggestion.

And yeah, sure the guy had a nasty attitude, but who in his position wouldn't? He was an alpha. He was used to smelling the fear and respect that his voice evoked in people, over just plain old sweat and air conditioner mildew. He was supposed to be rutting and constructing bridges and ripping people's heads off with his bare hands, and instead he was reduced to being a condescending asshole and squinting at Dean as if Dean personally invented the phrase 'yolo’ or something equally as inane. 

“You're just trying to make a case for his behavior so that we can avoid the truth that's staring us in the face.” Charlie had come out of the cooler and donned a big, comfy sweatshirt, and started grilling Dean on the new guy. She crossed her arms and leaned her back on the counter as she and Dean gossiped like teens.

“What truth?” Dean challenged.

“Y _ ou have a thing for assholes _ !” Charlie sang out, to the tune of nanny nanny boo boo.

Dean hung his head in shame. He couldn't deny it, but he kinda wanted it to disappear. It creeped him out when he considered it. His own father had been a null alpha mostly-jerk who had walked around smelling like the inside of a tin can for years before he died in a car wreck. It's not like Dean was attracted to these qualities specifically! He just played a mean devil's advocate whenever he encountered an Alpha who had shut down somehow after they'd been dealt a rough hand. 

“Welp. Tell me I'm wrong and he's not really an asshole.” Charlie was taunting him now.

“He- he seems like a total jerk. I took him on to save you the trouble of having to put him in his place.” Dean made puppy eyes at his co-worker, jokingly. Her boobs-only dating policy had thrown them into the friend zone long ago, despite the fact that Charlie's alpha female designation made her even more genetically suited for a male Omega. _Tough tucas, 'cause the_ _heart wants what it wants_ , she always said.

“Fine. I'll be sure to thank you. Now where did you two register, again?” She squinted through her bright red bangs and pretended to read her phone.

“Fuck you.” Dean pouted. Charlie looked up a moment later with sincerity in her brown eyes.

“Is this gonna be okay for you? Medical consults are paired with like sec-genders for a reason. I don't get how you were bullied into this. It’s not against policy.  But if it goes bad, it could totally become against policy.”

“I think he thinks I'm an alpha.” Dean grinned mischievously. Charlie frowned.

“Dean, this isn't a prank show. We're talking about possibly screwing with your hormones. I don't even care what it might mean for- what was his name? Casteel?”

“CasteeEl? I don't know. I read it off his paperwork and called him Mr. Novak.” Dean avoided Charlie's amused smirk. “Anyway, it's no big deal. Dad was null forever, and it didn't mess with Sammy or me. It's not like I'm gonna see him that much.”

“Alright.” Charlie narrowed her eyes and clicked away on her phone. “Keep detailed records. Of everything. I'm serious. Every last drop in your panties.” She held up her phone and showed Dean the Zimno ap. “I locked the account so that only you can see the notes. When he's done training we can scrub your identities and send it off to HQ as a case study.”

“Great.” Dean was glad the conversation was over.

“But Dean? Be careful, okay?”

Dean looked confused. He shrugged at his co-worker, then meandered out of the desk area to set up for a breathing workshop in the classroom. The cold shower would have to wait.


	4. Bag of Ice

Castiel had a punching bag set up in his basement. It wasn't a finished basement. The one, bare light bulb had blown out sometime while he was overseas, so he generally stayed near the foggy little windows in the front. If you dropped laundry on the floor between the washer and the dryer, it was no longer clean. It smelled like moist, old wood.

He stood in the light of a window now, in an a-line tank, tucked into his roomy black slacks, and he stared down his punching bag. Back when he was a real Alpha, he could, always feel his energy and aggression roiling inside of him.  He took pride in his ironclad self control, deciding exactly when and where to release his fury, like releasing a tiger from a cage.

He gave the punching bag a half-hearted bump.

Now he felt nothing but contempt, and self loathing. It festered at the bottom of his stomach like toxic waste. He was radioactive from the inside out. 

He pushed slightly harder with the other hand, tapping the bag quickly before recoiling.

And the medicine they had given him with such glowing reviews- it was garbage. The AlphaEnergy left him feeling jittery and just recently electrocuted. The AlphaRut made him nauseous before rendering him painfully turgid. He was supposed to slather himself in AlphaScent, “engineered to chemically mimic the most enticing alpha aromas!”. He would honestly rather apply fox lure to his upper lip. He was supposed to try and live his life tweaking, vomiting, smelling of synthetic alpha and catering to a painful, unpredictable erection. Thanks a lot, science.  The medical industry was clearly dominated by Betas. Better advice would have been for him to simply buy a Ferrari. It was a less humiliating admission that he had something for which to overcompensate. 

He threw a one-two combo out. The bag swayed gently as the smacks of his fists seemed to echo around the empty space.

Then there was Dean. The ultimate Alpha. The pinnacle of male alpha perfection.

He slammed his left into the bag’s kidney. It thwopped.

Dean with his white teeth and his broad shoulders and his flirtatious smile. How did he manage to erase the malice he clearly harbored from his sparkling green eyes,  as he openly mocked Castiel’s null status? Stupidity. That had to be how. 

He hazarded another combo, a right jab followed by an uppercut, which slid up the bag in a very unsatisfactory manner.

Stupid. Young. Stupid. Virile. Young, dumb and full of- 

Castiel was punctuating his thoughts with strikes, no longer pausing between blows.

Completely narcissistic. Inexperienced. Inconsequential. Insignificant. Genetically perfect. Spoiled. Undeserving. Probably young enough to be his son. 

Castiel was breathing heavier as he moved. The basement was becoming warmer.

It wasn't fair. His life was shit. It was all sacrifice and work and orders and pain and betrayal and suffering and righteous indignation and turning a blind eye and the ends justifying the means and cold, wet MREs and the slow death of his self worth, all for some kind of reward. For an indication that doing the right thing was actually the right thing to do. Or the wrong thing for the right reasons. Or just acting as a pawn for whoever was in charge, but having a naive faith in those people. Had he really done so poorly that this dysfunction was the necessary reward? 

He dropped his hands, breathing heavily. That was the part when he should have roared. He should have pummelled the bag until the chain snapped, and it hit the floor and ripped open with wear. His Alpha eyes should have flashed red like a beacon, startling anyone unlucky enough to pass by his basement window. But instead he looked at the floor and pretended that a single tear of frustration was actually just a stray bead of sweat. 

He would accept his fate. He had tried to be deserving of some kind of peace, and a modicum of prosperity, but he had obviously failed. He would train with Dean. He would resolve himself to their ridiculous program, if only to prove that it was ineffective, and save the next poor schmuck like him the humiliation. 

_ No! You deserve an Omega. You are still an Alpha.  You could chase and claim Dean.  _

Castiel looked up suddenly. He hadn't heard from his Alpha brain in a long time. Even his anger had been forced on him by his logical mind. How peculiar. Perhaps this was the first stage of his descent into null madness.  His Alpha envy of Dean was twisting into an obsession. One with no regard for the reality of their genders. Just terrific. 

Castiel swallowed. It's not even as if he would be opposed to cavorting with another Alpha. His attraction to others had always been indifferent of their genders, first or second. However, despite the brief glimpses of flirtation, he had no indication that Dean was as flexible in his choice of companions. What did it matter? Dean was an attractive man in his twenties. Castiel was a 38 year old menopausing alpha, whose list of reliable sources of sexual gratification did not include his genitals or pheromones. Literally anybody else had more to offer, and he may have assumed Dean was dumb, but one thing the kid probably did know for sure was how well he could pull. 

No. Castiel would remain alone, exercising in futility with nothing to look forward to. He trudged up his stairs to go and enjoy a hot shower, though he now owned a stack of literature that wanted to deny him that happiness, starting 9am Monday morning. Fuck his life.


	5. Frost on the Glass

“Okay, let's begin!” Charlie's chipper voice was like iced coffee at 9:05am. She sat cross legged in the front of the Zimno breathing room, facing the windows with her back to the wall of mirrors. Dean sat off to the side, facing her, just in front of his fellow trainer, Kevin Tran. Kevin was a lithe Chinese-American man who Dean had actually first met during Sammy's cello stint. He had a kind of a tiger mom, so Zimno was just a stepping stone as he attended medical school locally. They were all dressed comfortably in old sweats and Zimno hoodies. 

Mr. Novak had arrived about ten minutes early, as instructed, along with a couple other members who would go on to train one-on-one or in pairs with Charlie and Kevin. Ash, a long-time regular had wandered in for the breathing class. He was fully trained, but he claimed that it helped to get out of the Batcave and breath with some real people every once in awhile. Dean supposed that was probably true.

“Now let's start with a song!” Charlie cheered. Dean clamped down on a smile and glanced around the room. The new people’s eyes were widening as they had WTF moments. Novak sat still as stone. 

_ I've got something in my pocket, _

_ It belongs across my face. _

Charlie sang heartily, conducting the silent audience with her forefingers.

_ I keep it very close at hand in a most convenient place. _

She winked. Dean made conscious effort not to smile.

_ I'm sure you wouldn't guess it if you guessed a long long while, _

_ So I'll take it out and put it on. _

She paused, and cocked her ear to the crowd as if she were listening to make sure everyone had caught up.

_ It's a great. Big. Happy. Smiiiiiile! _

Dean and Kevin applauded. Charlie ducked her head in humble acknowledgment. Ash wolf whistled. The new members chuckled and squirmed. Mr. Novak looked as though he were plotting Charlie's demise.

“Okay. That's over. Don't worry, guys. I was totally fucking with you. You shoulda seen your faces. I can show them to you later.” She pointed at a small security camera mounted above her head. “Anyway, we're not gonna make you sing or dance or chant or anything like that. I mean, I can't guarantee that I'm not going to do more singing, but you are in no way required to participate. I mean, these guys are supposed to be my friends, and they didn't back me up at all.” She gestured toward Dean and Kevin, who waved and flipped her off, respectively.

“What we are here to do is science our bodies…. With nature.” She made a broad, queenly gesture. “Breathing is automatic. However, we can trick our bodies into different reactions by controlling how we breath.” She glanced around at the expressions of her audience before continuing. “I'm not going to bore you with the biology before we start. Feel free to ask Kevin over there to explain it to you after your mind has been blown. Now listen to me and follow my lead.”

Charlie took them through 30 fast, deep breaths in and out, before prompting them to breath all the way out and hold it like that as long as possible. Dean, Charlie and Kevin had been doing this for a while, so they kept their eyes open, watching the class for an indication that everyone had reached their breaking point.

Dean's gaze flicked to Novak. He had his eyes closed, and his face wasn't set quite as tight as it had been when they had spoken. The light from the side windows highlighted his silhouette, and he looked kind of peaceful, haloed by morning sunlight. Dean swallowed, still holding his breath. It had been about a minute, and all the other new people had gasped in a breath. Novak sat with his eyes closed, swaying with these minute core movements promoted by what may have been his slowed heart rate. 

“Okay!” Charlie said, a little more reverently than when they had started. “If you've breathed in, take a moment to center yourself, then start with another 30 deep breaths.”

Ash finally broke down, and breathed in loudly through his nose. It wouldn't be so damn whistly if he bothered to lay off the weed. Dean wasn't against people smoking, but Ash was always complaining he was allergic to his vice. That was just stupid. Surely he could find a way to ingest it that didn't give him trumpeting sinuses.

Mr. Novak was still holding his breath, with his eyes closed. It was going on a minute, forty-five seconds. Charlie glanced from Novak to Dean, and gave an impressed eyebrow raise. 

“We're going to really go deep, here. Don't be surprised if you begin to feel all tingly.” Charlie instructed. A cherubic black woman huffed out a breath of laughter, and wiggled her fingers around, clearly feeling the effects. “And believe me, there is no shame in passing out.” Charlie gave Dean a quick eyebrow spike.

Dean got the message. He breathed in quietly, and enjoyed a moment of what Charlie liked to call 'sparkle eyes’. That was how she described the little dots of light that erupted into their field of vision when 'going deep’. Charlie was warning him to watch Mr. Novak, but Dean reached out and touched the man's shoulder before he realized what he was doing. Novak's eyes popped open, and he turned his head slightly towards Dean, then squinted his eyes as he breathed in very deliberately. 

“I know my limits.” Mr. Novak said, in what was likely supposed to be a whisper, but was in reality a growl. Dean clenched down his glutes, automatically, because it had been a long time since anyone had growled at him in public, and he found it inappropriately arousing 

“Good.” Dean cough-whispered.  “Let's go out back and finish on our own. Go at our own speed.”

Dean stood up and strolled to a door in the back. Castiel followed.

Charlie shook her head at them both.


	6. Close your ice

Castiel got a sick joy out of being too good at everything that Dean asked of him. Yes, his civilian wardrobe may have been on the formal side, but that didn't mean he had been working some cushy desk job all these years. No, up until the end, his body had been a lethal weapon. He could hold his breath as long as it took to decommission nuclear submarine. He could ford through a heavy current of 35 degree water with fifty additional pounds of supplies strapped to his back. He could survive in desert conditions for over 72 hours with no fresh water supply. 

Dean asked him to breath heavily, then hold his breath to exhaustion, three times. Then he had him stand, in his swim trunks, in “the cooler” for 5 minutes. Admittedly, it made his feet uncomfortable. Then Dean had him hop into a sauna, which was irritatingly hot. Following that, he maxed out all of Dean's fitness challenges in the gym, and then returned to the cooler for yet another 5 minutes of awkward cooling. Absolutely nothing about the day had been challenging, or even thought provoking, yet Dean seemed as upbeat and easygoing as ever, and maybe even slightly impressed.

“Now's the fun part.” Dean led Castiel into the small studio where they had done their breathing exercises in private.  Castiel simply gave Dean an incredulous glare before neutralizing his expression. There was nothing “fun” about being assigned to experimental therapy.

“No, really.” Dean answered Castiel’s look. “We're going to relax, and work on some meditation.” Castiel breathed in slowly and then closed his eyes. 

Castiel did as he was instructed. He sat on the mat and crossed his legs. He breathed in and out. He followed Dean’s low-toned instructions, and ignored the new-age soundtrack that sounded like a tone-deaf pan flutist next to a babbling brook. He let his body go through the motions because that was the path of least resistance, and despite his bad attitude, he didn't want the failure of this endeavor to be heaped upon his own shoulders, with the rest of his shame. He followed because he needed a new scapegoat.

“-awesome at pretty much everything.” Castiel brought his conscious mind back to attention as he noticed Dean's quiet words began to sound less scripted. “I think you just have to take all that determination and focus it on making yourself whole again. Not so that you can go out and accomplish more amazing stuff. So that you can be- uh this sounds lame- so you can be happy, I guess.” Dean looked down at the mat, and Castiel actually smiled at his ineptitude. 

“What insight could you possibly have into my situation? You are barely old enough to have had ruts in the double digits.” Dean swallowed, and did not make eye contact, but Castiel continued. “Now that you've aided a few suburban slugs in 'waking up their primal urges’ you think you can imagine what I'm going through? -what it's like to be trapped in a failing body?” He was getting slightly more animated now, raising his hands off his knees to form air quotes that reflected in the mirrors around the room, multiplying his sarcasm. 

Dean looked up at him sharply, catching his eyes and holding them for a bit too long. Castiel attempted to pour as much vehemence into his gaze as he could muster, so that Dean would know that even Castiel's calm meditative pose was simply another exercise in self control that he could master easily.  It did not have the desired effect, as Dean seemed to harden a little instead of retreating. 

“You know what? Someday you're gonna figure out exactly how much I know about it.  Just give it some time. I'll see you tomorrow.” Dean stood up abruptly, as if pulled out of his sitting position like a marionette. He walked his muscular bow-legs out of the room and left Castiel with the distinct feeling that he'd somehow put his foot in his mouth. Other than Dean's good looks and fine physique, Castiel had no proof that the man was anything he had broodingly imagined him to be. Chances are the guy was being over-dramatic, but Castiel would still be remiss if he didn't start basing his assumptions on tangible evidence over his nosedives of fancy. 


	7. Glacial carrots

Dean slammed his way through the quiet Omega locker room. He usually just used the staff lockers, as he was one of the only male omegas around Zimno, and didn't want any female omegas to feel like he was in there for ogling purposes. But the gym was nearly closed and it had been so long since a female alpha had been reported as aggressive or dangerous, that most of the women had opted to use the large, integrated women's locker room and just get on with their lives. 

Charlie found him a few minutes after their eight o'clock close, laying on a narrow bench between rows of orange, metal doors. 

“Hey, you're not allowed in here.” Dean joked, quietly.

“And yet, it seems way more appropriate for me than for you. Why is that?” Charlie quipped. She leaned against locker 28 and folded her arms.  “So. How's it going?” Dean sighed at the question that was clearly indicated in her tone. 

“I dunno. Fine. Great. Really great for a first day. So great it kind of leaves me nowhere to go. Whatever.”

“So what's got you all….stroppy?”

“You gotta lay off the British comedy.” Dean chided.

“Answer, handmaiden!” Charlie barked, pointing at him with royal authority.

Dean sat up and rubbed his face.

“The guy keeps referring to me as an Alpha. It's so weird. I want to say 'dude. I'm a freaking Omega. I get the whole body going haywire on you thing.’ But-” Dean paused to unsuccessfully collect his thoughts.

“You like being viewed as an Alpha?” Charlie guessed. Dean considered, then shook his head in the negative.

“I don't want him to find out I'm an Omega and then look at me as some kind of…” He looked up at Charlie hoping she'd read his mind and spare him the embarrassment that comes with admitting that he considered himself somewhat irresistible.

“Oh.” Charlie was a genius. “You don't want to become the hot omega carrot hanging in front of his recovery horse.”

“Right!” Dean exclaimed, relieved that Charlie didn't seem ready to argue. “But I also don't want him to find out and have him not… look at me like... the carrot.”

Dean felt like shit as soon as he said it. So much for not acting like a self-absorbed tool.

“Damn, Dean. I can't believe you spent one day with an old, admittedly hot guy, who smells like, I dunno, a really sloppy vampire, and you're already freaking out over him.” She coughed out an impressed laugh, but Dean could hear compassion underneath, even if it took the form of concerned pity.

“I’m not.” Dean denied. “I'm  _ not.”  _ He repeated with a different inflection. 

“Are you, just, like, feeling hormonal? Close to your heat maybe?” Dean answered Charlie with a very hard side-eye. She raised her hands to surrender. “Sorry! Forget I said anything! We'll just Delorean that.”

She backed up a few steps, but stood still in the shadow by the door to say her final piece.

“Whatever happens, record it in the app. For posterior-ority!” She shoved her fist in the air as if future generations were another important social cause she wanted to rally behind, then she turned on her heel and made her exit. 

Dean pulled his phone out of a cargo pocket and glared at it for a moment before beginning to type.

_ C.Novak - day one _

_ We started with group breathing around 8am. Novak was too good, so we separated from the group and went at our own pace. He maxed at 3 min 29 seconds and he acted like he only gave-in out of boredom, over an actual need to breath. Or it could be a competitive thing, because he held out longer than me every time. To be clear, I wasn't competing.  _

_ In the gym he did everything I suggested, twice as hard as I expected him to. He rolled his eyes at some of the breathing suggestions, but did them anyway. I was waiting for him to comment about an increased capacity or something, but he didn't seem surprised. I get the feeling that this guy used a lot of these same techniques in the service. _

_ So we get to meditation and I think that's where he's really gonna be lacking, but he once again makes it a point to outdo me. I thought I had an insight into his situation and tried to let him know he's not pointing enough of his laser focus inward, on himself. He had a shit fit after that, but *it was so hot* I ended up just being proud of myself for getting that much of a reaction out of him.  _

_ *Delete things between the asterisks!* _

_ Anyway, it was only one day. I think I need to find tougher activities- maybe outside- maybe around more peers that he can feel good about beating at everything. The guy is elite. And then I need to trick him into true meditation. Which means I gotta work on my own. Won't be easy *blocking out the angry wet dream* but that's my job! _

He clicked to save the entry, snorting at the giggles he was sure his starred passages would pull out of Charlie.  She trusted him, as well she should. He was great at his job. He just needed to prove that to himself by fixing Castiel and remaining professional.  He sat up and started to research on his phone.


	8. Bear went over the mountain

When Castiel arrived for his next Zimno session, he was prepared to go through the same motions as before, and then blow up unreasonably on his trainer, perhaps getting him paired with someone else, or kicked out of the program entirely. 

He was not prepared for Dean to hand him a mysterious backpack and usher him through the gym and out the back door. He looked around the back parking lot with an eye trained to absorb every detail.  There was a thin layer of ice over the grass that seemed to get thicker as his eyes travelled up the mountain that rose up behind the strip mall.

“Okay. Today we're going hunting.” Dean started to explain, as he dropped his own backpack on the pavement momentarily, then stripped off his shirt. “There's an Omega lost somewhere in the woods on that mountain.” Dean pointed up the steep hill. “We're not gonna stop until we find them, or some trace of them.”

“This is a made-up scenario, I presume.” Castiel asked, blandly. 

“Yes.” Dean answered, unphased by the lack of enthusiasm.   He pulled a worn tee shirt out of his bag and handed it to Castiel.  “Shirt off. Here's the Omega scent we're going to follow.”

Castiel dropped the backpack, stripped off his tee shirt, skin pricking slightly in the winter air. He put away his own shirt before begrudgingly accepting the gray cloth that Dean offered him. 

“What exactly do you want me to do with this?” Castiel asked as Dean eyed him expectantly.

“Eh. Just smell it. It won't bite.”

Castiel flexed his jaw and reached out slowly, not breaking eye contact with Dean. He reluctantly brought the garment up to his face and breathed in, quietly.

“It smells like a clean shirt.” Castiel reported. Dean swallowed, glancing at the shirt, then forced a smile. 

“Awesome. So let's go.” 

With that he broke off into a jog, crossing the asphalt and hopping into a narrow footpath worn through the grass by teenagers and vagrants. Castiel sighed and stood watching for a moment before loping off after his trainer. He could easily contemplate the futility of this exercise while keeping pace with the younger alpha. 

The path seemed to spiral upwards until they had entered a more wooded area. Dean stopped at a fork and turned to face Castiel, jogging in place.

“Pick a trail.” Dean ordered. Castiel managed to sigh while jogging in place.

“What is the point? It would be arbitrary.” 

“That's fine. But your body isn't going to find the resources to fix your problem if you never ask for them. You've been relying on your other senses to compensate for too long.” 

“It's just that simple.” Castiel harrumphed, and chose the path furthest from Dean. He set the pace and ran ahead, imagining how good it would feel to simply leave Dean behind, huffing and puffing as he tried to keep up. But Dean was a skilled runner, even if he looked like the kind of man who had traded cardio for superficial weight lifting.  

At the next division of the path Castiel went left, effectively beginning a zigzag pattern up the mountain. Dean seemed pleased with his choice, which irritated him. It only got worse when the path was suddenly wide enough for Dean to run alongside side him.

“So, I've been meaning to ask,” Dean started with a reluctance that assured Castiel he would detest answering. “Have you tried any pheromone therapy?” Dean was not even breathing heavily, and neither was Castiel, but he was still bothered by it.

“It's experimental, and therefore not an approved medical expense.” 

“Oh. And that's not the kind of thing you can do out-of-pocket?” Castiel sighed, even as his feet pounded the path and his breath puffed out in a fog through his flared nostrils. 

“They aren't interested in admitting my demographic to their studies.” He growled, refusing to look at Dean. 

“Your demographic?” Dean sounded adequately disgusted. “You're not that old. Jeez. Well screw them.” He stated with finality. 

Castiel reached another fork in the path, and chose the path that led more steeply up the mountain. Dean seemed agreeable to that choice, not that it mattered. Castiel supposed the run would be over quicker if he “tracked” down whatever Omega-scented item was waiting, likely at the top of the mountain (because honestly, Dean didn't strike him as being very creative, and he estimated the ascent and descent would take about 2 hours, which was exactly the amount of time they were scheduled to train for).

“There are people born with bigger problems than I have developed.” Castiel informed Dean. Dean tipped his head to that, in concession.

They maintained their light jog up the mountain, taking deep breaths of frigid air. Castiel had to admit, he was exceedingly more comfortable running shirtless in March than he thought he would be. When serving, he had worn clothes for protection in any climate; baggy outfits covered in straps and riddled with pockets. Canvas and kevlar choked him in the heat of the desert, but that was life. Now he was bared to the cold with nothing but his skin standing between himself and the terrain. It was oddly worrying, despite the mundanity of it all. Trees were felled naturally, throughout the thin forest that they ran through, with branches jutting out at unnatural angles with jagged, snapped off ends. Castiel watched the forest for a few hundred feet before he noticed an upcoming path, nearly invisible compared to the one they were following. There were no marks on the ground, and several logs fell across the way, but the brush and branches that would scratch a six foot tall human were conspicuously absent. Castiel veered into the opening in the woods, hopping off the path suddenly. He focused on vaulting the fallen logs and avoiding low-hanging branches before allowing himself to look back for Dean.

Dean was infuriatingly delighted at the change in direction, and followed along with a grin that told Castiel that the smell of Omega was present for those with functioning receptors. 

Was Castiel following it? No. It begged the question, why exactly was he bothering to follow Dean’s path, anyway. Oh yes. To end this as soon as possible.

_ I will end this and I will go home. _

_ I will end this and I will go home. _

Castiel's mantra was rushed to fall in line with his footfalls, but incentivised him adequately.


	9. Oil and water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The outpouring of enthusiasm for this is incredible. Thank you. This is the iced latte of my summer.

Dean entered the day's report into the ap, once again hiding out in the Omega locker room, after hours. 

_ C.Novak, Day Two _

_ I had Castiel do a run to flat top, and I told him he was tracking an Omega scent. He didn't care, and he barely sniffed the shirt I gave him as a sample. Then he used his crazy military skills to get up the mountain and find the other shirt at the top, in no time flat.  _

_ But get this. I used two of Sam's shirts for bait. I also had Garth set the one up on top of the mountain. So the only Omega smell he really had access to at all was me- but I'm a constant. _

_ And He didn't just find the shirt at the end. He took the exact route Garth did up the mountain. So basically, the dude can track like hell, but he can't smell. He definitely would have made some sort of commotion if he had realized we were using beta scent and I was lying to him when I said it was Omega.  _

_ This means the mountain sniffing runs are kind of pointless. It seems like I gotta convince him to want to try. Maybe his intro to the whole program was too negative. I've worked with skeptical people before, but I've never tried to train anyone who's in better shape than I am. They usually come for the weight loss and stay for all the other benefits.  _

_ Maybe that's the problem. We've got no proof that we have anything to offer him. _

Dean sighed, closed the ap and looked around. The gym was deserted, locked up for the evening and mostly dark. He had been finding himself in this situation a lot more lately, like some kind of workaholic. He hadn't been out on the town to scratch his usual itches, either. What was up with that? He hadn't really felt the pull of the usual itches so much.

Maybe he was simply working too much; working  _ out _ too much. He led classes and had other clients beside Cas, and he put a lot of effort into each of their sessions. That was probably it.

He stood up and stretched, then clomped off towards the exit, letting his arms sway as if his hands were 5lb weights. He felt heavy. His phone buzzed to life in his pocket, playing The Mexican Hat Dance at a medium volume. Dean groaned and sat down on the nearest bench before answering.

“Hello.”

_ “Deano! My little fruity tooty! I have some oils for you to pick up. I've texted you twice now.”  _ The voice came through somehow whiny yet upbeat. It was the voice of Gabriel, a strange dichotomy of smooth masculinity and sing-songy shrillness. Dean rubbed his brow and looked around. Now was as good a time as any, he supposed.

Gabriel had a little holistic essential oil business down at the other end of the plaza. It was called Smell Ya Later, which seemed like an incredibly poor choice, but Gabriel honestly believed that there was no such thing as bad publicity. The shop was closed to the public by the time Dean got to the door, but Gabriel was visible through the window, spraying something out of a glass bottle, wiping it up with a Swiffer, and dancing to what may have been 80’s pop radio. He was a short, lithe Omega man with whispy locks of light brown hair that caressed his neck, who would have been much more attractive to Dean, overall, if his daily dress didn't look quite so inspired by Richard Simmons.

“Hello.” Dean called as he entered, to be polite. Gabriel still started dramatically and let the sweeper fall with a clatter. Next he affected a cool and calm demeanor and swaggered over to the counter that Dean was standing next to.

“Well hello. Fancy meeting you here.”

“How much do I owe you?” Dean asked, rubbing his hands together for something to do.

“No banter, even? What's your blood pressure, young man?” Gabriel wore a concerned expression. He walked around the back of the counter and grabbed an automatic blood pressure cuff, passing it over to Dean. “When did you last eat? Sit.” He indicated a waiting room style chair by the door. Dean rolled his eyes, but complied. Gabriel officially just sold essential oils,  but he'd lost a bunch of weight and gotten himself healthy by following a podcast that had him checking his blood pressure, saliva and urine ph, and blood sugar on a regular basis*. Now he thought he was the blood pressure whisperer.

"I ate a sub around 6." Dean reminded himself. It was over 2 hours prior so the insulin from the roll was probably out of his bloodstream.

The little machine whirred, giving Dean the instructions in accented English, revealing that it had probably cost $20 on Amazon and was definitely made in China.

_ Your diastolic measurement is 106 millimeters of mercury. Your systolic measurement is 68 millimeters of mercury. Your pulse is 60.  According to World Health Organization standards, your blood pressure is … Optimal. _

“Optimal my ass.” Gabriel muttered, as he responded to Dean’s echoing stats. 

“So it’s not optimal?  Mrs. Lee is making it sound like a good thing!”  Dean was teasing Gabriel by playing dumb. He’d heard the spiel before, and had slowly been convinced that there was wisdom behind the theory that low blood pressure was just as much of a red flag as high blood pressure, though it suggested a different list of concerns.  His own low reading made sense, considering he’d been expending more, and finding less time to eat the same general amount of food.

“You know it's not optimal. The fact that your here proves the point.”  Gabriel brought over a small bag containing Dean’s oils.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Usually you’re too busy whoring around to catch me while I’m at the store.  Now it’s a Thursday night, and it looks like you haven’t even gone home yet. The only thing that can tamp down on that male Omega libido of yours is low blood pressure.”  Gabriel stated, as if it were so obvious.

Dean’s brain did an about face.  Did he seriously only show up to pick up his orders when he was too tired to get it on?  

“You know, life’s not that simple, man.”  Dean furrowed his brow as he said it. Was it that simple?  Could you just point at grumpy, anxious people with low sex drives and say “l _ ow blood pressure, low blood pressure, low blood pressure - bang, bang, bang _ ”? If only. 

“Me and my previously 190lb body are intimately aware of how much more complicated it is than that, thank you very much.  That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t shake some extra unrefined salt onto your dinner tonight and try mixing collagen beef peptides into your smoothies.  I shouldn’t even have to tell you this, Mr. Health Trainer Extraordinaire. But trust me, your usual sex addiction will thank me.” 

A knock on the glass door grabbed both of their attention.  A statuesque woman who appeared to be Indian gave Gabriel a significant glare, then sauntered back to a sleek sports car that had pulled up next to the curb. 

“Holy shit.” Dean mused. “First off,  you should talk, man. If I’m an addict, you’re like - whatever comes after that. Second, you finally perfect a love potion or something?  How is that-” he pointed at the car, glistening and purring in the twilight, “-here for this?” He pointed at Gabriel, sweepingly gesturing at the entire outfit; vintage Air Jordans, salmon colored shorts, and clingy white tee shirt emblazoned with flamingos drinking margaritas. 

“Alright, alright. Drink some bone broth!  The vetiver will chill you out almost to a fault, so be careful. You know all about lemon. It was nice seeing you!  Have a good night! I’ll put it on your tab! You owe me a soda!” Gabriel poked the bag in Dean’s hand as he described the essential oils.  Dean stood up and was swept out the door. Gabriel followed, and somehow the click of the lock as he turned his key sounded absolutely gleeful. 

Dean stood around to watch them drive away, still mystified as to the nature of their relationship.  Oh well. It was now 9:30pm and his blood pressure was admittedly in the toilet. He began walking towards Zimno where he’d left the Impala, and wondered idly what Mr. Novak’s blood pressure was.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kickitnaturally.com is the place to go if you're interested in learning about health and possible weight loss that can be accomplished by understanding what simple readings that you can do at home are telling you about your internal workings. I luv kickitnaturally.


	10. Frozen meals

Castiel needed to eat more food.  It was annoying. When he had been discharged he had avoided the grocery store as much as possible.  Something about smelling coolers full of lettuce and the warmth of the bakery, but not being able to interpret the the scents of the various people who bustled around him made him too depressed to bother going shopping.  He had been ordering MREs online like some kind of armageddon prepper. Except he had been eating them. Pathetic. However, after two weeks of training with Dean he'd received a lecture about his apparently “non-optimal” blood pressure and a couple of remarks about his shrinking body fat percentage, which led him to finally concede to begin eating regular food. 

They were standing in a locker area in front of the cooler door when Dean had brought up Cas’s weight loss and asked about his diet.

“You don’t go to the store?”  Dean had been shocked. 

“No. And I don’t wish to start.” Cas looked down at his feet when he said this.  Why not? He was ashamed, and his Alpha was dead. Dean knew this better than anyone by now.  Dean also knew Castiel could outperform him at any task set forth for them, so Cas had literally nothing left he could prove.  He wasn’t growing any fonder of the kid, but he was was slowly running out of that fighting spirit when it came to proving him wrong.  Lately he’d begun viewing himself as some kind of punishment that the universe was enacting on Dean in response to bad karma or past life transgressions. 

“Well maybe you should try one of those box meals programs.  Or two of them. They send the food to your house.” Castiel wondered if Dean had noticed Castiel’s slow change of demeanor, or if he was just too dense to pick up on it.

“How is this different than an MRE?”  Cas blinked.

“It’s raw, whole food.  You have to cook it for yourself.” 

“I don’t have a microwave.”

“On a stove.  Using pots and pans.  They give you a recipe card and it has pictures and you just follow the directions.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just recommend a good protein powder?”  Cas scratched his ear, unhappy with all of Dean’s suggestions, despite how necessary they were.  He had been waking up sore and uncomfortable, and had lost a little weight. Dean had theorized that his body was cannibalizing its own tissue for resources.  It sounded crazy, but then what else could logically be happening when he used more fuel than he put in? 

“I’d like to recommend a good protein powder,  _ on top _ of you eating real meals made of real food.”  Cas grimaced. Dean looked around with a suddenly uncomfortable face. “Do you have the time?”

“What do you mean?  There is a clock over the cooler.”  Cas glanced behind him.

“No, what I mean is, what do you do when you’re not here?”  The question seemed to tiptoe out of him, unsure of whether it was entering a minefield.

“Mundane household tasks.  Some therapy.” Cas looked at the floor again.  Why couldn’t they just go into the cooler or the sauna and let him use his physical prowess to dominate Dean in some way?  He toyed with the idea of just running away.

_ Or Dean could run, and you could chase him. _ Alright. Castiel’s Alpha brain was officially down for the count.  This whole endeavor was only making things worse.

“Right.  So it seems like you have the time to cook yourself at least one real meal a day, and make yourself at least one protein shake a day.  And you’re a badass special forces expert guy-” Cas rolled his eyes at the title “So I know you are going to be able to read and follow the instructions for assembling your own chicken parm, or whatever.  You’ve probably even got some cool knives lying around that you can use.” Castiel sighed, but nodded. Dean watched him, from that space about three feet away and two inches higher than Cas. Dean’s height still rankled him, for some reason.  “Why don’t we go get dressed, and I’ll give you my phone number. Then if you have any questions about operating a stove I can try my best to answer them before you burn down your neighborhood.”

Dean walked off towards the locker rooms.  Castiel’s eyes followed him, puzzled about his feelings on everything that had just transpired.  Dean was definitely not losing weighting the posterior, which was impressive, considering his job had him spending more time every day in the conditions which were having such a drastic effect on Castiel.  Dean turned, and looked back at Cas, probably catching the fact that Cas was staring at his butt like it had personally offended him. Great. That prompted Cas to follow Dean to the locker room, where he changed automatically, staring into his locker the whole time. When he emerged he accepted a postcard advertisement for a mail-order meal program that had Dean’s phone number scrawled in some negative space along the bottom. 

Next thing Cas knew he was sitting at his kitchen table staring at his laptop and wondering if he liked Pacific cod.  He had never had the occasion to eat it, as far as he knew, but this was supposed to be sustainably sourced. It couldn’t hurt to try, he supposed, so he added it to his menu.  How strange it was, taking care of himself like a civilian, actually questioning his own preferences instead of simply fulfilling a physical need and moving on to more important things.  There was simply nothing more important to move on to, now.

He entered the code on his postcard on the check-out screen, noticing Dean’s phone number again as he confirmed his order.  Why had Dean given him his phone number? Cas did what anyone who had just realized their life held nothing more important than next week’s dinner order, would do, and picked up his phone. 

_ Why did you give me your phone number? - Castiel _

He waited.  The response was not instant. 

_ Hi Cas. Are you ok? Digits were for if you had any questions. - Dean _

Cas looked at his phone. 

_ Questions about cooking?  Wouldn’t it be faster to just consult the internet? - Castiel _

_ Maybe. I guess despite ur attitude, I don’t mind talking to you. - Dean _

This was perhaps the kindest sentiment that anyone had ever sent Cas in any form of communication.  Dean Winchester was officially unhateable. For all his bravado and naivety, he just wasn’t a bad person.  Cas swallowed hard. With a schedule of dinners that started next Tuesday all set up and ordered, he was suddenly wishing he had more productive things to do with his time.  At this rate, he was going to spend the whole night staring at that message. His phone beeped again, startling him out of his thoughts.

_ Hello? Don’t really want to start backpedaling, but you’re kinda leaving me hanging here. - Dean _

_ What am I supposed to eat before Tuesday? - Castiel  _

Castiel typed the question in honesty, without thinking.  He didn’t know how to tell Dean that his candor was appreciated.  Better to show it.

_ Call the Roadhouse and order some takeout.  Some of that’s real food. Can’t go wrong with a burger! - Dean _

_ What are you eating? - Castiel  _

He was genuinely curious, and Dean had given him his “digits” for the purpose of questions and answers.  There was a pause. Castiel began imagining Dean in front of a smorgasbord of healthy food, his answer taking so long to type out because it was so complex.

_ I got nothing in the house. My brother was supposed to stop by, but he bailed. You want to go grab something? - Dean _

Oh. 

Did he? It was only in the last few minutes that Cas had decided he didn’t vehemently hate Dean Winchester. But yes, yes Cas did want to grab something. With Dean.  With his health and fitness coach, Dean. At a bar and grill called The Roadhouse. With other people also in attendance, at a popular dinner time. So maybe he didn’t want to.  Then again, restaurants smelled like food and many people at bars wore suppressants. His internal debate was interrupted.

_ If you don’t like that idea, we could just get takeout. - Dean _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the queen of lame cliffhangers! SPOILER ALERT they don't get takeout. I don't know why I feel compelled to write this way, but summer vacay home with the kids has me not feeling like rethinking it. So shitty cliffhangers it is!


	11. Jazz hands

Dean didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.  For anyone else, it would be an easy answer: cultivating a friendship with difficult personality.  No problem. But Dean was not a patient farmer of friends. He didn’t plant seeds and water them and watch his relationships grow into beautiful perennials. Generally, his friends chose him, and all he cultivated was easy hook-ups.  And those were more like lambs to a slaughter, instead of some plant analogy. 

_ We can eat at the restaurant. What time would you like to meet? - Castiel _

Right. So this was happening.  Two weeks ago the guy couldn’t look at him without grinding his teeth, and now all of the sudden they were going to grab dinner.  There were probably jokes about cold therapy really  _ melting _ Castiel’s heart to be made, but Dean didn’t want to take any credit for this.  Reminding himself that Cas was a client kind of ruined all the fantasies of what could happen after dinner, as if this were a date.  Those were nice fantasies.

_ 7:00 works. - Dean _

_ See you inside the Roadhouse at 7pm.- Castiel _

Dean smiled at the confirmation message, summarizing the plan in one sentence to reduce any chance of confusion. Castiel was a practical man.

Dean just about sprinted upstairs to his shower, and was reaching towards his favorite bar of omega-complementing soap (courtesy of Smell Ya Later) when he stopped and realized it wouldn’t make a difference.  If anything, it could make things weird if he got some unwanted attention from someone else. There was that very short, awkward time in his life when he’d go out to eat with his father, a little too close to his heat, and inevitably some drunk Alpha would ask why he was with a null when he could be with a real man.  His dad had no problem physically destroying those Alphas, and getting Dean and himself kicked right out of the restaurant. Dean blanched at the thought of entering a similar situation with Cas, who had all the tools to kill the offender, but would more likely exercise his ironclad self control and leave in a cloud of shame.  Dean also didn’t want his Omega status revealed to Cas in this manner, so he instead reached for a light blocking soap. It was nothing pharmaceutical, just some essential oils that were known to neutralize Omega pheromones for a short time. It was good to use before interviews or when anxiety was high, as it had a mild calming effect.  It was the right choice, as Dean was for some reason buzzing with anticipation.

Traffic had him through the door of The Roadhouse at 7:05, checking around the tables a little frantically until he located Cas in a booth in the front corner, just off the side of the bar.  The restaurant had high ceilings and dark wood paneling around the interior, spruced up with a few metal signs that advertised brands of gasoline that weren't sold anymore. Dean smiled as he made his way up to the table. Castiel looked up and looked more stunned than happy. Dean tried to joke.

“What, you thought I was gonna stand you up, or something?” Dean slid into the booth, opposite Cas. 

“I don’t know what I thought.” Cas answered, still kind of staring at Dean a little too intently.  Dean tried to be flattered, but it was hard to switch gears from the cantankerous, angry man that he’d worked with at the gym, to this.

“Are you okay?”  Dean squinted at him, and really examined the man.  He was thinner than when they’d met, and that was worrisome.  Most people had some weight to lose. Cas did not. It didn’t bode well for their success in jump-starting his reproductive/pheromonal cycle if his body didn’t have the resources to simply maintain his muscle mass.

“I’m as okay as anyone who’s recently come to see their life contains very little meaning or purpose.”  Okay, so Cas definitely wasn’t mistaking this outing for a date. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”  Dean admonished. “It’s not like everyone else has some big, important calling.  We just have 40 plus hours a week to be distracted from that.” Cas looked guilty at that.  “No, stop that. You’re some kind of hero who spent the last - what? Twenty years doing what other people told you.  Whatever you decide to do with your life, this time right now is about you, man. “ Dean punctuated ‘this time’ by poking the table, then picked up the menu and partially hid behind it for a moment. He did not think about the fact that he was around five years old on the day Castiel enlisted. Nope nope nope. It was neither here nor there.

“Well.”  Castiel regarded Dean from over his own menu. “I don’t believe that your job is an accident, or a distraction from your  _ true calling _ .  You are an effective motivator.”  Dean looked up sharply, but Cas’s gaze was wandering down the menu.  “What do you recommend?”

“Burgers.”  Dean responded.  The waitress showed up a moment later, and after they had both ordered burgers and beers, they made small talk about Wim Hof and Dean’s training experiences before the food arrived.  It was comfortable. Dean would go so far as to call it enjoyable. Castiel hadn’t shown any interest in who Dean was as a person, previously. Now that he was asking about Sam and Dean’s education and his trip to Poland, Dean was starting to get a niggling sensation of guilt in the back of his throat. Sure it was easy to go along with being an Alpha when the guy hated him, and seemed to view their difference in age as an excuse for blatant condescension.  Now they were at a restaurant conversing like adults. Cas had expressed admiration for Dean’s choice of work. Hell, this all started because he was taking Dean’s advice to eat real food. How awkward would it be if Cas’s secondary gender scenting came back online, and he realized that Dean was an Omega the whole time? That was the goal of all Dean’s professional efforts, and yet he was beginning to dread the possibility of success.

The food arrived, and they dug into it.  Dean almost missed out on the delicious meal as his mind whirred away.  Surely Castiel didn’t care that he was out with Dean, specifically. He wanted to feel normal and he needed a friend. He was a man who should have had everything - his health, a job, a hobby, a family- and he had nothing.  Dean was a tool and a placeholder, and once Cas was fixed, a liar. Dean watched Cas moan in delight over his food, and his nose twitched. Cas was also a hot-as-fuck alpha who Dean sometimes had inappropriate thoughts about, in the shower. His voice was a permanent rasp that spoke of some near-death situation that he’d overcome.  His eyes - well Dean was almost bored about waxing poetic about his eyes. They were fucking blue, and they didn’t express things the way other people’s eyes did, but that’s not to say they weren’t expressive. Sort of a moot point, because in Dean’s inappropriate daydreams, he pictured them closed. In ecstasy. Dean was probably not a good person.  He certainly wasn’t living this noble life in service to others that Cas had just conjured up out of nowhere with a few innocent questions. Castiel would realize this, and he would see Dean for what he truly was, eventually. Then all chances of making fantasy a reality would be lost. At least he would still have burgers.

After their dinner plates were cleared, the waitress, whom Dean had never seen before at The Roadhouse, winked indiscriminately at them both after suggesting dessert.  Though betas could smell the difference between alphas and omegas, that was about as far as it went. Chances were she just thought they were two guys on a laid-back date, but Castiel didn't need to know that.

“She's a beta.” Dean said quietly,  pretending to read the dessert menu after she had sauntered away. Castiel looked up from his own menu, then craned his neck to really look at her as she spoke to a couple two booths down. “Just in case you were interested.” Cas whipped his gaze back to Dean,  who could almost hear the static created by the sudden motion.

“Why on earth would I be…?” He shook his head a little and restarted. “Interested in what? Being thoroughly humiliated? Perhaps. Let me see how I feel after dessert.” He looked down at the menu, and Dean fully expected the floppy piece of laminate to burst into flames.

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry.” Dean held his hands up in a subtle surrender. The dessert menus were becoming very hallowed and studied objects, thanks to their mutual discomfort. “It's just-” He trailed off. This was gonna push the line of what was appropriate between a personal trainer and the client that was 14 years his senior, real fast.

“It's. Just. What.” Castiel seemed to know this, and welcome a chance to scorn Dean anew. And Dean thought they had been making progress.

_ “It's just _ if a person has two working hands, then it doesn't matter what their pheromones are doing.” Dean tried not to blush.

“Excuse me?” The dessert menu was looking like it might be a coded order to kill Dean Winchester.

“Sex isn't just scenting and- you know. Pretty much everything you need to accomplish is right there at your fingertips.” Dean decided suddenly that an adolescent lewdness would somehow gloss over the awkwardness of the topic. He wiggled his fingers like jazz hands and licked the corner of his mouth. Cas just stared at him.

“So what’s the verdict on dessert?” The waitress was suddenly back, which should have stopped the staring.

“I am not interested.” Castiel stated, slowly, not breaking eye contact with Dean.

“Okay,  what about you, Sugar?” She turned her sunny smile to Dean. 

“Apple pie to go, please.” He returned her smile and offered her his menu. Castiel continued his icy stare. Fuck it. Dean couldn't dig the hole he was in much deeper. He waited for the waitress to be out of earshot.

“It probably wouldn't hurt to get doused in some all natural sex pheromones. I mean, it'd be like therapy. You'd get to focus on someone else's enjoyment for a while and their excitement would be doing you a favor. Keep an open mind next time an Omega starts flirting with you. And a Beta couldn't hurt. Hell, who knows if an Alpha might even knock something loose.”  Dean studied the place-mat, self consciously. Would Castiel be bigoted against sex between like secondary genders? Would he think Dean was hitting on him? Neither? Both? Hell if Dean knew.

“I will take that under advisement.” Castiel stated, quietly but clearly. Just then the waitress brought Dean’s pie and the check, which Cas picked up and paid automatically. Dean watched his nimble fingers as he signed the credit card receipt, and wondered why he suddenly had to have a thing for the most unavailable guy on the planet.  Whatever. He dug $20 out of his wallet and attempted to pay Castiel back for his meal, but Cas waved his money away, which felt similar to being shut down by whatever adult was pitying him when he used to pull out his Velcro wallet to pay for groceries as a child. 


	12. Ice, ice baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel in a utili-kilt!

Castiel was talked into attending the polar bear jump about as easily as he was talked into any other part of the Zimno program. Dean had begun calling him “Cas” and clapping him on the shoulder or gently punching him in the bicep in an attempt to interpret Cas’s reluctance to do anything as some kind of schtick, ever since their awkward dinner at the Roadhouse. Cas allowed it, to reap whatever miniscule benefits he’d receive from the increased physical contact. His therapist seemed to think a few handshakes would turn things around. Cas’s faith in his studied and credentialed therapist was just about on the same level as his faith in Dean and Zimno. He had very little faith in either.

Ultimately he just showed up at the polar bear jump to glower, and enjoy a minute or two of superiority as he inevitably did better at jumping into the icy lake than all the other participants. Dean was there, helping and laughing and urging people on with that you-can-do-it smile. It grated on Cas's nerves. It was like their age difference was suddenly caught in the spotlight of the harsh 11am sun, with Castiel pale, scarred and thin-skinned, trying to dominate at a non-competitive sport and Dean in contrast with his youthful fullness, trying to give everyone a trophy just for participating.

Castiel dutifully got in a line, was strapped into a harness that was utterly unnecessary, did his assigned deep breathing exercises as nonchalantly as possible and jumped into the little square swimming hole that had been cut into the lake. It was cold. He gasped, then stilled his mind and quelled the urge to shiver,  which would mean he was doing something wrong. He swam through the water as it started to burn almost as if it were hot instead of cold, and was helped out by a volunteer at the other end of the hole who’s help he did not need. Dean clapped him on the shoulder at some point, along with other cheering from the Zimno staff. He tried to look appreciative, but that feeling wasn't genuine until he reached the warm-up tent. It was set up on the shore, kind of wrapped around the sturdy, wall-less pavilion, and contained eight drying stations that were organized around eight first aid cots. There were volunteers by each cot, and the temperature had to be close to 60 degrees Fahrenheit, despite the frigid air outdoors.

“Well hello there! I'm Gabriel. I'm here to give you a once over.” The man had started speaking with his back to Castiel, but he stopped short and leered after turning around. “ And I'm an Omega!” The shorter man was dressed in a black utili-kilt that appeared to be worn over a pair of full-body, fuzzy red long johns. He wrapped Castiel in a big, fluffy towel. Next he brandished a blood pressure cuff and strapped Cas in, all the while smelling like grapefruit and cinnamon, which was strange. Usually people were so used to secondary gender pheromones evoking natural scents that they didn’t bother to add to the mix, so lately all Castiel had been subjected to was people who smelled too strongly of their synthetic deodorants and cheap perfumes.

“Do you announce your secondary gender to every null you meet?” Cas grumbled at the Omega’s brashness.  He may also have been grumbling at the burning sensation as the warmth allowed his cramped veins to suddenly expand back to working size, and warm blood surged back through his extremities.  There was a sensation that never got old; feeling alive via wishing you were dead.

“Yes. Well-” Gabriel paused to reconsider a theatrical finger placed on his soft chin. “Only the hot ones. I can also use American Sign Language for the hearing impaired. I just need as many good looking people as possible to know that I have 24 hour access to free lube.”  Gabriel extracted Castiel’s arm from within the towel, gently shoved him onto the medical cot in a sitting position, and proceeded to take his blood pressure. Castiel wasn’t sure where to look. Despite Dean’s suggestion that an Omega could perhaps help him, Castiel was absolutely not interested.  After an awkward moment of staring off past the man’s shoulder, he decided a straightforward rejection was the best way to respond to such a straightforward come-on.

“Thank you for the compliment, but I am not interested.”  He rasped. Gabriel took the reading and rolled his eyes.

“Gee, I wonder why not?  It’s a miracle that you’re still interested in being a living, breathing human being at this point.”  Castiel’s gaze flicked up to Gabriel briefly, then looked off into the distance once more, the frown still prominent on his face.

“Oh so you’re on the fence about that one too, huh?” Gabriel’s light hearted banter was laced with genuine empathy. Castiel furrowed his brow and frowned the absolute hardest.

“If that were a real concern, I certainly wouldn’t have come here today.” 

“Well why did you come today?” Gabriel cocked his head to the side as he handed Castiel a steaming paper cup of liquid.  Castiel sipped it without asking what it was, then flinched. It wasn’t a hot chocolate or a tea. It was salty.

“Haha, your face.” Gabriel giggled. “Drink it. You need your electrolytes.  So why are you here?”

“Dean.” Cas groaned, sipping the soup. It wasn’t Dean specifically as much as it was Zimno, but he saved himself a syllable blaming the man.  The rest of the tent bustled around them, and he hoped that Dean wasn’t around somewhere in earshot, ready to pop up and offer his heartfelt congratulations, or elbow Cas in the ribs and make lewd sex gestures with his fingers in regards to Gabriel the Omega. That all felt like an imminent possibility.

“OH!” Gabriel appeared enlightened. “You must be his pet project, Cas.  I am suddenly understanding so many things right now.” Gabriel subtly leaned away so as not to be completely presenting his admittedly pleasant smelling body to Castiel’s personal space. That was appreciated.

“That must be nice.” Castiel said sourly. Being the surly null alpha that everyone gossiped about was another phenomenal achievement he would cherish always. Gabriel seemed to sense he was less than pleased that his reputation preceded him.  The perky Omega sat down on the cot next to Castiel with a freshly poured cup of coffee that he didn’t seem ready to offer to Castiel. 

“Look. Can I tell you a story? Because I used to have some health issues and I cleared them up by following the work of these natural nutrition experts and I really have a hard time keeping this life-changing information all to myself.” 

Castiel looked around the tent. Jumpers were entering, drying, warming and exiting. Meanwhile Gabriel was continuously stirring his own cup of coffee and sitting sideways next to Castiel as if they were about to have some tea and a nice long chat. Castiel sighed.

“Taking that as a sigh in the positive!  Okay. So everyone has blood. It's really important stuff. It contains electrolytes which carry messages around the body. There needs to be a certain amount of these electrolytes close enough together, or the messages don't get to where they're going. This makes the body sad.” Gabriel made a theatrical sad clown gesture. “Normally a body that wasn't getting what it needed from external sources would start pulling it out of tissues and bones, but in the case of big strong manly men like yourself your brain says ‘whoa! We need those tissues and bones to do strong, manly activities every day!’. So the body starts fretting about where it's gonna find all the resources it needs to keep those messages running through the blood. You might crave carbs because the insulin will thicken it up. You might work yourself up into a fit every time you want to tackle a problem with a clear mind. You could get addicted to caffeine or other stimulants.” 

Castiel, feeling uncomfortable being subjected to a lecture in the midst of all the drying tent chaos, sloppily ran the towel through his unruly hair.  Gabriel continued, bouncing a little as if he were excited about getting to the good part.

“So one day your brain sees that your rut is on the upcoming agenda.  Ruts cost tons of resources! And you're not getting enticed to spread your seed by Omega hormones every day, you're using those  _ muscles _ every day.  The brain says ‘phhhffftt! I'm crossing reproductive health right off the agenda.  Byeee.’ And then there it goes. Just like that. One day you smell like a bottle of Cholula, the next day you smell like Remington Arms.” Castiel stared at the steaming coffee pot while trying to remember what his own scent used to be like. Smoky, definitely. He then tilted his head to the side and squinted at the short Omega.

“Are you saying I should stop exercising?” Gabriel looked up for a moment to ponder, talking aloud to himself.  “ _ Stop using big strong manly muscles so much…  _ Uh yes. I guess I am. Or find ways to get heroic amounts of nutrients in your body every day.”

“What exactly are your qualifications?”

“Ah.” Gabriel had the decency to blush a little. “I am a certified naturopath, and I’ll have you know,  the current mainstream medical school textbooks and curriculums are created by the pharmaceutical companies. I mean, it was proven ages ago that high ‘bad’ cholesterol comes from eating carbs, and not foods high in cholesterol, but three out of four doctors will tell you to give up eggs and meat and-”

“I believe you.” Castiel cut him off, quietly. I was just curious. You've obviously done a lot of research on these subjects.” 

Gabriel took a breath, preparing for the next unsolicited barrage of information, when Dean Winchester suddenly appeared, also unsolicited. 

“Hey, Cas. I think I hear your mother calling.” Dean was wearing a black down coat, unzipped over a tshirt and blue jeans. Castiel was still sitting on the cot in only black swim trunks. He felt naked.

“My mother is long dead.” It came out automatically, his need to correct the incorrect being a way to execute the control that seemed to be an ingrained alpha tendency. Dean’s eyes widened, and he swallowed.

“So’s mine. Since I was four.” Dean’s mouth seemed to be on autopilot, but he didn’t laugh off the comment, or look away.

“Oh.” Cas fought a growing concern that he had accidentally injured Dean in some way. “I was much older than that when mine passed.” He found himself watching for signs of further distress. 

“Well.” Gabriel interjected. “You two have just restored my faith that there is a higher power. You may now leave me alone with my thoughts.” The shorter man hopped off the cot, which nearly tipped because Castiel’s weight was not centered.  He quickly stood as well.

“C’mon, Cas. Quit holding up the line. Let’s get your clothes.” Dean led him to the back of the tent where the jumpers had put their clothes into cubbies for safe keeping.

“How would the mutual loss of our mothers restore anyone’s faith in anything other than entropy?” Cas mulled it over as they walked. This time Dean laughed.

“You can’t listen to everything Gabriel says. Some of it’s just… fluff.”  He reached Cas’s cubby and extracted the clothes, handing them over in a neat pile. Castiel nodded in thanks and ducked into a changing room made from curtains and mobile, felted dividers. 

“So good job today.” Dean raised his voice a little to pass through the walls of fabric.

“It was no great feat.” Castiel responded.  He exited the changing room where Dean stood waiting for him, as if they had somewhere they were about to go, together.

“You look a little purple around the eyes.” Dean squinted at Castiel’s and ran his finger under his own eye to indicate the area he was referring to. 

“I haven’t been sleeping. Or, I have been waking in the middle of the night.” Castiel wondered what they were waiting for. Could he just say goodbye and walk back to his car?

“How come?” Dean asked, ever trying to problem solve. “Nightmares? Do you need to pee? Noisy neighbors?”

“Hungry. I’m always hungry.” He had been distracting himself by letting his gaze search for the nearest exit, and therefore hadn’t realized that this answer would only horrify Dean, and delay the end of their conversation even further.

“Seriously?! Do you go eat something?!” 

“It would disrupt my meal delivery schedule.” Castiel explained with a shrug.  “Sometimes I do pushups.” Dean rubbed his hands over his face, groaning. Cas rolled his eyes and pulled his own olive green canvas coat off the coat rack. 

“Cas, we have got to go get you food, from a store. Right now. I was gonna shop today anyway. C’mon, let's go.” Dean turned and led Castiel out of the tent. He looked longingly at his car as they walked by it to get to Dean’s big, black boat of a vehicle. 

“I don't believe you can bill my insurance for this.” Cas paused on the passenger side, his hand tentatively on the handle.”

“Just get in the car.” Dean sounded exasperated. Or maybe exhausted. Cas wondered if Dean was as hungry as he was at that moment, and how Dean would feel about him eating a bag of chips during the shopping process, and just paying for the empty bag at the checkout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've run out of already written story to edit and post every day! Updates will now be every couple of days. Thank you for being AMAZING readers! This seriously has more hits and comments than most of my completed fics. I'm blown away. It's very motivating. I wish I could put you all in my pocket and feed you every thing I write for the rest of my life :)


	13. miles of aisles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some world building!
> 
> Generally, I HATE world building, or flashbacks in episodic TV or literature. I'm all "what do you mean I just read/watched all that and the plot moved forward exactly 2.5 centimeters?". So if you're like me, I understand your pain. 
> 
> Thanks for understanding!

At the grocery store Dean got a cart. He was feeling restless and hungry and he was afraid he knew why. The last couple of nights the moon had been waxing bigger and brighter, and his last heat had started the night of the full moon right before Thanksgiving.  It was now the middle of February.

Heats without suppressants ranged in their difficulty depending on the health of the omega.  At least, that’s what Dean’s health and fitness training had taught him. Conventional medicine just prescribed painkillers, antispasmodics, antidepressants, suppressants and synthetic hormones and sent confused, suffering omegas on their way, knowing full well they’d see them again in a few months time. Luckily, Dean had avoided that particular omega pitfall, even throughout his impressionable youth. He had always been an active guy who wasn't afraid of eating when he was hungry, so he had followed his cravings from drive-thrus to entire jars of dill pickles to bags of ripe nectarines to pints of chocolate ice cream; and that was just the pre-heat week. His dad had made sure to stock him up with what looked like a year's supply of beef jerky and a few cases of Gatorade when he was having heats as a teenager. Dean didn't complain, until he got tired of gnawing away at meat the consistency of leather while simultaneously trying to give himself an orgasm. When he was finally over it he went out and used his own money to get a little cube refrigerator which he kept stocked full of cheese sticks, summer sausage and pie, which he pre-sliced and re-wrapped slice by slice so that he could fit them in every nook and cranny.

Cas entered the grocery store wearing what Dean liked to privately call his “Trump face.” It was basically squinting with an unwavering confidence that he was about to walk into a cloud of something that smelled awful, but he was determined to be too cool to react.  Whatever the cause, the face disappeared as soon as they encountered a tower of potato chips at the front of the store.

“Would you be bothered if I ate these as we shopped?” Cas asked after carefully choosing the original flavor. 

“Do what you want, man. You're the grown-up here.” Dean watched his comment go unnoticed or simply uncared about as Cas ripped into the bag as quietly as possible. Dean added that moment to his list of times he had tried not to notice Cas’s hands and failed miserably.

Dean led them down the produce aisle, and grabbed a bag of nectarines.  Then he grabbed a bunch of bananas. He was reaching for cherries, until he realized the pits would make his life hell. This meant that kiwis were also not an option, unless he suddenly developed a taste for the fuzzy skin. 

“Am I supposed to be mimicking you?” Cas’s voice brought him out of the haze of his food cravings.  The alpha was eyeing Dean’s growing pile of fruit and looking concerned.

“Well you don’t necessarily need the same amounts, but yeah, Cas. Pick out a whole bunch of food.  No one wants to waste, but I’d rather have your house good and stocked so that you can get a feel for how much you need every week.” Cas crunched on his chips, thoughtfully, then picked up his own bunch of bananas.

“Will there be room for me..?” He trailed off, holding the bananas out over the end of Dean’s cart.

“Yeah sure. We’re not gonna go that crazy.” Cas deposited his bunch of bananas on what was now his end of the shopping cart. He then turned to examine the kiwis.  Dean was a little jealous, until he realized he could just eat the kiwis before his heat started, and pushed past Cas to grab his own little carton.

They traveled the store this way, with Cas taking his time to examine every area that Dean led them to, and carefully choosing foods as if they were stocks and bonds that he were about to invest his life savings on. He would then stack them on his end of their shared cart, which gave Dean a little thrill, despite the fact that their purchases would ultimately end up in different locations. The process itself was so domestic, and Dean hadn’t shopped with anyone since Sam had moved into campus housing. 

As far as the null factor went, there was a moment when Dean had to glare down a little blonde alpha with a crew cut who couldn’t have been more than 21. The kid happened to reach between Dean and Cas to grab some chicken thighs.  As Cas cluelessly decided between 85% and 90% lean beef, the young alpha gave him a subtle sniff, then turned to Dean with a self-important expression that read,  _ this guy? You're kidding, right? _

_ “ _ C'mon,  Cas. You're better off going out for burgers.” Dean elbowed past the young alpha and grabbed the meat out of Cas's hands, tossing it back into the cooler as if it had personally offended him. Cas turned and followed without question, while the younger alpha rolled his eyes dramatically and strutted away.

Dean felt a little guilty. He had actually met an alpha while pre-heat shopping who had worked out pretty well. The man's name was Benny,  and he had been new to the area. Generally one's heat companions didn't have three to five days they could take out of their schedule, as only mated couples were entitled to the time, legally. Dean had been used to snagging people for day one or two, then struggling through the end alone, as it was kind of poor form to invite someone else in to bat cleanup. Benny, however, had met Dean on a Tuesday, and wasn't scheduled to start at his new restaurant job until the following Monday. Overall he was a nice person, if a bit sweaty. His hands certainly didn't hold the same appeal as Cas’s, all delicate and lethal at the same time. 

“I don't believe I have ever asked about your relationship status.” Cas’s purring Batman voice broke Dean out of some inappropriately timed memories. “You appear to be shopping for two.” Dean looked at his side of the cart, expertly Tetris-ed together, yet still spilling into Cas’s territory. 

“No. Nope.  Just lil’ ol’ me.” Dean tried to play it cool by offering a wide smile. Cas did not return it, which was almost comforting in it's consistency. “I’m as single as they come.”

“Oh.” At that moment Dean guessed that Cas had incorrectly surmised that “alpha” Dean was possibly due for his annual rut. Suddenly Dean realized that for all his physical expertise, he didn’t know much about ruts.  His dad had still had them when Dean was a kid, but they were always dropped off at Bobby’s or Ellen’s for a week. Later dad became a null and Sam presented as a beta, and Dean’s life was virtually rut free.

The rut itself was a dangerous phenomenon.  While an unprotected omega in heat was endangering themselves by having very little energy on reserve to fight off an attacker, the rampaging alpha in a rut was a danger to potentially everyone in their vicinity, if they were not allowed to express their rut correctly. Because of this, and the high incidence of violent crimes related to alphas who thought they could handle themselves in public during this volatile time, the police were armed with special sprays, and there were certain numbers you could call to report an alpha who was out too close to a rut. It was other alphas and omegas duty to report the individuals, as the betas couldn’t tell, and often walked right into trouble without realizing it. 

But as far as the actual anatomy of the rut went, Dean was a little clueless. He had never even joked about sharing one with an alpha, as it was reportedly unbearable unless your heat was triggered by some kind of bond.  Dean was a confident and fit guy, but he didn’t want to mess around with someone jacked up on a year’s supply of whatever hormone made them crazy. He had also learned that the danger of receiving a bite increased tenfold, and he’d yet to meet anyone in his 10 years of sexual maturity that he would have been okay with being accidentally mated to. 

_ Have I seriously been having sex for 10 years? No. Well, almost nine.  That’s crazy. But not, like, heat sex. I’ve only been having heat sex for…  six? How the hell did I get through 16 heats on my own? Fuck. _

“You are not entirely present. I can’t smell you. Should I be asking for assistance?” Cas was holding a box of frozen Goya fried plantains up, frowning at Dean as if Dean were one of those alphas that just tried to ignore the fact they were starting to smell less like a pepper and more like smouldering charcoal. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not-” Dean waved at the cart. “I’m not due until the full moon. I’m just hungry.” It felt better to lie with the truth; as if some day when this all came back to bite him in the ass, he could pretend it was all just a hilarious misunderstanding. 

“What I was trying to say is that I have heard of plantains, but never tried them. Do you think these would be an accurate representation of what they are supposed to taste like?” Dean’s heart melted at the sight of this serious man who treated experimentation with Latin food like a walk through a minefield. 

“All I heard was blah, blah, blah, Dean let’s go eat Mexican after this. Sure, Cas. Sounds good. We’re actually near a decent place.  And none of our stuff will melt in the car.” Dean gave Cas a smile, then moved to steer the cart around him, though he didn’t pass fast enough to miss Cas very stoically placing the plantains back into freezer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason this took so long, is that I caught a cold.   
> There's probably always going to be reasons I don't get chapters posted as quickly as I like. This week's reason is the cold. It was a doozy of a cold.


	14. Ice floats

Castiel could now state with authority that he enjoyed fried plantains.  He was also partial to taquitos, though it was probably the tamales that truly captured his heart. The restaurant had been enlightening. It was as if he were able to enjoy himself because he was completing a mission to discover new foods and dishes that so far he had only read about on the menus of his meal delivery service. Their outing to The Roadhouse had not held so much practical purpose, and only served to get him a bit more acclimated to being a null out in public. This time he had accomplished that, and more.

Despite the fact that Dean was due for a rut in a week or so, based on what Cas remembered of the moon the night before, the young man had been pleasant and non-aggressive. This was a relief, though it rankled Cas a little when he wondered if it was simply because there was no reason to be aggressive towards nulls, who were about as unimportant as betas when it came to an alpha rut. 

Cas had figured out that Dean had probably had seven, or maybe even eight ruts already in his life.  This would be twice as many as Castiel had eked out before the military put him on their chemical cocktail. Thank goodness they had. From what he remembered, ruts were draining, both physically and mentally, though he wished he could have found a way to tell his 18 year old self that that very rut was going to be his last.

He had been feeling the itch for days, and had sequestered himself off in some rich aunt’s hunting cabin, being assured that no one would bother him, as nothing was in season to be hunted. He had brought magazines with him. Dirty magazines, which seemed like a hilarious concept now that the internet was powerful and ubiquitous. But there were no smartphones when Cas still had ruts, just the classiest magazines he could find, which wasn’t saying much. 

Since puberty, and the subsequent discovery of pornography,  it had always turned his stomach the way the omegas blatantly eyed the camera while shamelessly fingering themselves. It never gave him the impression he was being looked at or desired; only that there was a cameraperson in the room taking the photo, and that that look was meant for them, and anyone and everyone who bothered flipping to that page. The nicer magazines he had found simply photographed omegas in artistic poses, nude or in various states of undress.  While many of them directed their gaze at the lense, just as many were looking softly off into the distance, haloed in the light of the sunset in a field of wildflowers, or something else just as trite. Those were Castiel’s favorite. It was easier to pretend they were waiting for him. Searching for him, despite a sea of immediately available alphas and opportunities. It somehow made him feel better about fantasizing they were under him, pinned down, panting and moaning and exposing their necks. At least when he imagined they were bearing the brunt of his brutal urges,  he could pretend that they had chosen that. They had chosen him and their heat had been triggered and they would be bonded forever. This is what he feverishly dreamed as he rutted into his Apha Pad. 

At the last moment, with his eyes screwed shut, he had bit into the faux neck at the top of the foam and rubber contraption, releasing the synthetic omega blood into his mouth. For seven out of 10 alphas, it was an effective trick end to their rut, and it had thankfully worked for him. Even so, he left his knot to deflate slowly inside the pad, scared as if his body would suddenly realize it was a ruse, and force him to do it all again. That would be unacceptable.  It took so much out of him, and he gained absolutely nothing. He couldn't wait until the end of his senior year, until he was disciplined, his body under control for good, with no more naive dreams of the perfect omega rejecting all others to choose him. 

_ Dean is the perfect omega.  _ His alpha brain mocked him like a schizophrenic voice. He was mindlessly putting away groceries and there it was again. It had changed so much as he had aged; morphed from the hushed whisper of his developing secondary gender to someone who sounded like a sex-crazed adult. Ugh. He slammed the half-gallon of milk onto the top shelf of his fridge, and swung the door shut a little too forcefully. Condiments clanged together.

_ I don't understand your hesitation.  I know you find him attractive. My use of the word “perfect” is based on what you've always wanted. _

Castiel felt the usual evening hunger gnaw at his gut, and for once he had something to feed it. He picked a banana and peeled it, finishing the fruit in three large bites.

_ Fruit is not what we are hungry for.   _ The voice droned on like a whining piece of heavy machinery.  Castiel tore into a bag of beef jerky.

_ You won’t feel full again until you have him.  _

Nothing was right. Even the jerky was too soft and tender, being made from a better cut of meat than the shit from the gas station. Castiel growled. He was supposed to be sticking to his fitness plan and eating more food and taking cold showers to better himself.  And if it wasn’t going to work, and he was going to fail, he was supposed to be failing  _ miserably _ . This Limbo he was in right then -standing in his kitchen feeling better than usual, but still worse for wear- it might as well have been Hell. He was anger without the alpha red.  He was lonely, yet still glowing from the exhilaration of a day spent with another person. His body ached and groaned and hungered, yet he had nutritious answers for all of its requests. Finally, he had a groin full of useless sexual organs and the last vestige of his reproductive system dysfunctionally pining for another alpha. 

His phone beeped, and he picked it up, surprised when he noticed that it had gotten dark outside and he was still standing around with no lights turned on. 

_ It’s 7pm, Cas. Time to eat some food! You’re gonna need to not feel like shit for your training tomorrow, and you jumped in a frozen lake today! ~ Dean _

Cas swallowed, and remnants of Teriyaki beef clung to the back of his throat. He was being poisoned; not with good food or electrolytes or even freezing water. No, something far more sinister had snaked its way into his body, and he didn’t know how to remove it. Somehow, some part of all this meaningless shit had given his body  _ hope _ and he neither wanted it nor deserved it. He picked up his phone.

_ Goodnight, Dean. ~ Castiel _


	15. You're invited to the party (in my pants)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhg. So much craziness left to write...

Tacos with Cas was the worst. Tacos of torture. What was with the military? Didn’t people get leave to see their family? Didn’t they grab a couple of hours now and then to watch a movie or eat some ice cream? Didn’t popular comedians and WWE stars travel to hot, windy places, donning fatigues and grateful grins, flexing and posing for pictures to thank the troops for their service? Dean was sure that these were real things that provided very small, but meaningful bits of positivity to the members of the armed forces.  Dean would also bet his savings account that whenever there was anything even slightly uplifting being given out, Cas was probably on the exact opposite side of the world. Possibly being tortured. More likely brutally assassinating someone.

The worst part? Dean found his befuddlement kind of adorable. It was as if someone took a very sheltered and well mannered teenager (who would be all kinds of illegal for Dean to be running around with) and put them in the body of a very fine, very fit, very legal 38 year old man.  With his lack of pheremones, it sometimes felt as if he hadn’t even presented yet. They went to dinner together and they went out to organized group activities together, and Dean suddenly had an understanding of how the odd fifth grader with a girlfriend must have felt when their parents decided to humor them and drive the teeny couple to PG movies and let them hold hands in the car. To be with Cas was just good, clean fun.

And Dean had had about enough of that. His heat was beginning to feel less like the drip of a leaky roof and more like the undertow of a retreating wave. He already had had to bow out of the following week’s Zimno session and pass them off to Garth (who was really good about covering and very sensitive to omega needs, both Dean’s and the client’s) and Kevin.  Dean had eaten four of the kiwis he bought  _ in the car _ with the help of a white plastic knife and spoon he’d found in the bottom of his gym bag. As much as he would have loved to keep going on platonic bro dates with Cas, it was getting perilously close to the time when all he would want is to be fucked by the big, strong alpha.

Dean wondered, for about the millionth time, whether Cas could still get erect like any other male beta or omega. What if his problem was just an inability to knot? What if the guy was walking around with a perfectly good dick believing some antiquated bullshit his obviously uptight family must have taught him about the definition of a “real alpha”? That would be a fucking tragedy. Not that it mattered, because the guy still thought Dean was a motherfucking alpha.

There was no right answer. Maybe it was just his pheromones talking, but Dean was pretty sure the only way he was ever going to get to  _ be _ with Cas would be if Cas’s system came back online and got the ball rolling. Dean’s was a deceit that only a garbage truck full of pheromones could distract Cas from. Or maybe, if something awful happened, like Dean was hit by an actual garbage truck, someone would let slip the fact that he was an omega and it would be overshadowed by his brush with death. Maybe. Re-starting Cas’s cycle, or jumping into traffic. Those were his options. His only options, thanks to the tunnel vision, courtesy of his impending heat. But he could do this.  He could get it done. 

Cas probably would like him as an omega, right? Cas sure stared at him a lot. He didn’t rub his superior skills in Dean’s face  _ all  _ the time. Cas went out to eat with him twice (and paid both times, interestingly enough). Despite their age difference, Cas treated him with respect, complimenting his work ethic and his cooking knowledge, and he seemed to be impressed at the quantity health and wellness trivia that Dean spewed, even though most of it was just regurgitated from Facebook or Gabriel. If you dumped a buttload of pheromones on top of all that, you would probably have an interested Cas. Dean hoped. That would be so awesome.

Better yet, Dean had been casually researching some experimental pheromone therapies for alpha nulls, and in many of the blogs and anecdotal reports, alphas getting hit with fresh omega heat began responding appropriately. Imagine that! So what if some other researchers had spoken out against it? They were from pharmaceutical companies that would make no money if people could just rub omega slick all over their limpness and be cured. 

Dean wanted to rub some of his own omega slick all over his not-so-limpness. Uhg. But starting early always made things worse. He had a session with Cas scheduled for tomorrow morning.  It would really be toeing the line of what was appropriate workplace presentation. Was he going to do this? He wasn’t too far along. He’d cut it way closer, in the past. Of course, at those times he had been going about his business, studying or working, not just sitting around in his empty living room fantasizing about a really pretty alpha, feeling like a dam ready to burst. 

But seriously, Cas’s eyes were like the bright light that detectives shined in the suspect’s faces in the movies. Dean worried that they were hot, and burning up oxygen, because the air got a little thinner every time Cas glared at him. His cheekbones and jaw were made of lines that hadn’t even been invented yet when all those Greek guys were sculpting their ideal man. His wrinkles came from a steely determination to do the right thing all the time and his hairstyle was a perfect marriage of his neuroses and his penchant for giving absolutely no fucks about what people thought of him. He’d let his hands fall off before he admitted he was cold, but he wrapped himself in his stupid, tan coat like a security blanket. His arms were muscled, his calves were proportional, his chest was tan and his body hair was subtle. His facial hair was stubble. It was stubble trouble, something that taunted Dean in that there was absolutely no way to pass-off brushing against it as a random accident.

His smell was- it was Cas. It was the clash of hot steel on a cold anvil. It was wet gunpowder. It reminded Dean of his Dad, sure, but it wasn’t the same. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe it was just enough to make Dean feel safe, or at least feel like he still had someone that he could rely on. And Dean could never rely on his dad for much more than his presence, quietly and persistently needing Dean, but never explicitly asking for anything. Cas smelled like his own version of that same promise. He smelled like he needed the distanced hovering that Dean had had down to a science before John passed away.  

Dean could do this.

The next morning Dean woke five minutes before his alarm. He had fallen asleep late, in front of a Dr. Sexy marathon, which had not helped the situation in his pants. He had washed with omega complimenting soap and put on a tee shirt that he had slept in a few times, but wasn’t deemed quite dirty enough for laundry. It was time to go big or go home.

The drive to work seemed longer than usual, but he felt alright. At one point he was no longer sure that he was as close to his heat as he had thought. He experimentally flexed his abs, and suddenly the squirmy sensations in his lower torso began snaking around again. Excellent. He slid through the glass door with a head bowed salute for whomever was at the desk, then made his way to the breathing studio where he usually met up with Cas. The alpha was not there yet, which allowed Dean to sit down and take a deep breath. He envisioned filling the space with his preheat, as if it were a swirling green mist wafting off of him.

"Hello, Dean." Cas was suddenly in the room, standing tall and making Dean shiver. The breathing studio thermostat was set low, as one would expect, but Dean felt a sudden flush that had less to do with pheromones and more to do with emotions. 

"Hey, Cas." Dean shifted his weight from one sneakers foot to another. Cas was wearing a black tee shirt and some basketball shorts. He walked to the middle of the floor and sat cross-legged on a yoga mat that Dean had just set out. Dean watched the grace of Cas's motions,  and sucked in another lungful of air. It was odd, how his attraction didn't surge and explode with every inhale. It was not that he didn't spend plenty of nights with betas or omegas. Perhaps it was the fact that Cas was supposed to be an alpha. 

"So, what would you have me do today?" Cas asked, looking up. Dean searched for anything other than resolve behind his pupils's gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sort of enjoying thwarting all of Dean's terrible plans. Just fair warning.


	16. Who the hell is Jimmy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. So. Yes. If you feel that I have gone all coo coo bananas on you, please see the notes and references at the end of the chapter. Thank you.

Cas awoke feeling old. Creaky. Cranky. His recent reintroduction to society was double-edged, and his fresh food diet had only had a day to try and repair years of neglect. He shouldn't have expected more than that, but he supposed he didn't have to be a ray of sunshine while he waited for results. He was always waiting.

His bad attitude brought him to Zimno on time and ready for action.  Dean was already there, which wasn’t unusual. He was wearing his trademarked Colgate smile and a Zimno polo with a light stain over his left pectoral, and Cas’s lip quivered into an almost sneer as he speculated that perhaps the young alpha had “gotten laid” last night. It would explain the distracted, starry look in his eyes.

“Well?” Cas prompted, sitting cross legged on the floor. Dean coughed. Castiel did not have time for this. While he appreciated that Dean never became preoccupied with attractive individuals while they spent time together in public, that didn’t mean that their scheduled session time was open for reminiscing. He was here for a reason, and he was suffering from a greater sense of urgency now that he had dared to entertain a sliver of hope that  _ something _ he was trying might deliver results. 

“Hey, Cas.” Dean curled his head down around Castiel’s nickname, managing to look through his lashes at the man even as he sat on the floor. “How are you feeling?” 

“Fine.” Cas answered, shortly. 

“Great.” Dean smiled again. “I guess we’ll start on the floor.” Dean stated, unnecessarily, as this was where and how they always began. Dean sauntered over to the rack of hanging yoga mats and retrieved a purple one, plunking it down on the floor only a foot away from Castiel. Suddenly Dean was across from him, criss-cross-applesauce, staring, with a twinkle in his eye that made Castiel shift his rear end, making sure he was not the subject of some prank and now super-glued to his yoga mat or anything so asinine. 

They continued to look at each other. Cas blinked first. Dean breathed in and opened his mouth to speak.

“DEAN THADIUS ARCHIBALD WINCHESTER!” The Zimno manager, Charlie, burst through the door. Dean jerked back, putting his hands on the hardwood floor behind his mat and trying to appear to be casually leaning back.

“That’s, uh-” He laughed. “You obviously don’t know my middle name.” Cas glared at the intruder. He was already behind. Was the universe trying to tell him he should just give up? He didn’t really miss the posturing that came with being an alpha, and was not in the mood for a demonstration.

“Hello, Mr. Novak.” Charlie addressed him, crisply. I am very sorry to interrupt, but I’m going to need to speak with Dean in my office immediately.”

“Whoa, Charlie, we’re gonna be done in about 40 minutes-”

“NOW, Dean.” Her voice was very commanding, even though her body language seemed to read that she was distressed for some reason. Dean gulped and stood up.

“I’m sorry- I’ll just be-”

“You will just be leaving.” Charlie spit out, and twirled around to push through the door, clearly expecting Dean to follow.  Dean complied, with the meekness of someone who had clearly fucked up, royally. Castiel wondered what Dean could have knowingly done that caused him enough guilt to quell the affront to his alpha that Charlie’s treatment should have provoked.

With a swish of the door they were both gone. Cas sat for a moment and wondered what he should do. Would Dean return after what would surely be a fervent dressing-down? What had Dean done? It was useless wondering. Cas took a deep breath, and his eyes closed of their own accord. He followed his new instincts and finished his breathing exercise, putting himself through a vigorous set of push-ups as he held his breath.  He lost count, but knew that he had accomplished more than he usually could when breathing normally. Nothing more than a neat trick.

He breathed in and sat back down on the mat and thought about his inner alpha. Where was it? Was it dead? Did it even matter? Perhaps he should just put on his coat, take himself to the nearest homeless shelter and offer his limited skill set up to whomever was running the operation. Where had all these desires to be normal even come from? He was a self-centered joke, pining for a lost adolescence that no amount of ruts could return to him. He had chosen exactly what he wanted to do from the ages of 18 to 38. Suddenly having his alpha back wouldn't magically transform him into a 20 year old. He would still be stiff and bitter and inexperienced, shame-faced and embarrassed as whatever partner casually threw him a pity fuck realized that his advanced years armed him with nothing more than a complex regarding the importance of sex. 

He looked around, realizing  that he had donned his jacket and was standing outside the Zimno front door. He may or may not have been enjoying the cold as the sun shown down, brightly, only to be bounced immediately back up into the clear blue sky.

“Hello.” The round-faced black woman that was in his very first group session was addressing him on the sidewalk.

“Excuse me.” Castiel murmured, and stepped aside. The woman’s attention followed.

“I'm Dr. Mosley.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “You’re Castiel, right?” 

“Yes.” Castiel shook, trying to remember when his name had been announced to everyone and anyone. Probably while he was fuming his way through that first group encounter. Dean had never asked him to attend anything that wasn't one on one, after that day.

“I have an office just two doors down. Would you mind walking me back to work?” She smiled sweetly, but her dark brown eyes spoke of an agenda. Cas accompanied her the 45 feet to her door for the sake of etiquette and perhaps a clue as to what she was really getting at. As they passed the glass window that preceeded her door, he read her full name and title,  Missouri Mosley, MD,  _ Doctor of Psychiatry.  _

_ “ _ I have a counselor.” Castiel answered the unspoken question out loud, sounding a little crazy in his own ears.

“That's excellent. Everyone can benefit from a little guidance. “ Dr. Mosley turned at her door and gave him a genuine smile.

“It doesn't feel like I'm benefiting from it at all. I'd rather stand in the freezer, if I'm being honest.” 

“Well. I understand that sentiment all too well.” A little shiver seemed to run up her spine at the mention of the cold.

“If I made an appointment, you would prescribe me something to help me accept being a null?” Cas didn't realize until after he had asked that no doctor worth their salt would stand on the sidewalk and make guesses at his possible diagnosis and subsequent treatment.

“Castiel, I specialize in a somewhat controversial hypnotherapy treatment. Though I am licensed to prescribe medication, I rarely have cases where it's necessary.” She began to rummage around in her large, black purse, presumably looking for her door key. 

“What makes it so controversial?” Castiel cocked his head to the side. He doubted he could even be hypnotized. 

“It's not so much what  _ I _ say that's controversial. It's what my patients say to me while they are undergoing the treatment.”

“When hypnotized?”

“Yes.”

“What do they say?” Castiel’s fist was clenched, though he didn't know why.  He was safe, outside, talking to a doctor whom he didn't know anything about, didn't have an appointment with, and likely couldn't afford even if he were interested in being hypnotized and clucking like a chicken or whatever it might entail. 

“That is a matter of doctor-patient confidentiality. I also wouldn't want to be accused of putting ideas into your head if you ever did choose to try hypnotism as a form of therapy. I don't usually volunteer my profession to strangers from the gym, but in my opinion, you looked like someone who could use a new alternative, so I took a chance.” She smiled again, to soften the assertion that Cas's demons were clearly visible to any passing psychiatrist on the street.

Castiel considered. It wasn't a soup kitchen where he could wallow in his martyrdom. It wasn't an icebox where he could pine for his lost decades. It was a kind looking lady (that Dean had never whispered the secondary gender of- maybe a beta), wearing a black sweater, a long wool skirt and a smile that seemed to know what decisions he would make, before he made them. He supposed he had nothing to lose.

“How do I make an appointment?” He rasped as he unclasped his hand.

“I block out 11-1 every day for continuing ed and case studies. Come on in, and we'll get your paperwork filled out. I accept the VA insurance.” Her hand came out of the black bag with the door key, and she led Castiel into her waiting room. 

The lights were on, and the sun from the window provided yellow highlights that toned down the green fluorescent fixtures in the ceiling. The carpet was dark blue and the walls were lined with cushioned metal chairs. Castiel sat and filled out paperwork for Dr. Mosely for a solid 15 minutes. No one else was working in the reception area, but she set his insurance information in a box on a small desk near the entrance, so he guessed she had a secretary, at least part time.

In Dr. Mosley’s office the walls were boring and grey. He had expected a cinematic landscape of dark wood and framed diplomas, and some scattered artifacts from her travels to other countries. Instead there was a desk, a brown couch and a rolly chair. It was underwhelming, and didn't do much to bolster his faith in the credence of hypnotherapy. 

“Please take a seat on the couch and try to begin relaxing.” The Doctor bustled around, clasping a manilla folder that would soon hold his case notes. Castiel sat down and put his hands on his knees. 

_ This is idiotic.  _ The voice in his head mocked him.  _ At least running around with no clothes on has proven physical benefits. Hypnotherapy? Why don't you find one of those tent shows and get hands laid on you and pray for a healing, while you're at it.  _

The Doctor settled herself in the rolly chair.

“Having doubts, are we?” She intuited. “It's natural. Let me explain my process.” She tossed the folder on her desk and folded her hands in her lap. “I'm going to hypnotize you using relaxation techniques. I will then ask your subconscious mind a series of questions. Depending on your answers, we could proceed in a number of directions, none of which involve anything more invasive than speaking. Any questions?”

It all sounded suspiciously nonspecific, and yet so very boring at the same time. 

“Why do you think this will help me? What do you think I'm hiding in my subconscious? Don't you need to know more about me?” Castiel was morbidly curious.

“Well there's very few people this doesn't help. I couldn't begin to guess what you're hiding. The more you share with me while conscious, the more difficulty you'll have accepting your answers when hypnotized. And why? Because it's my job. And maybe I'm being a little selfish because I can’t help but want to know what little Dean Winchester is all worked up about.” She smiled a closed lip smirk. 

“Isn't that unprofessional?”

“Sweetie, let's revisit this conversation about our standards of professionalism after we change your life. Okay? I'm going to need you to close your eyes.”

Castiel listened as Dr. Mosley counted backwards and instructed him to relax his body in a certain sequence. After that he kind of zoned out, until Missouri's voice pierced through the strange mental fog that had fallen over him.

“Today we'd like to know if there's anyone in Castiel who is not part of Castiel.” 

It seemed like a strange question to be asking a man that never even muttered to himself in the privacy of his own home.

“Yes. There is Jimmy.” Castiel’s voice answered. That was a hell of a new sensation.

“May I speak with Jimmy, please?” Dr. Mosley politely requested.

“Uh. Okay. Sure.” Castiel heard his voice come out of his mouth, but he simply was not the one who had asked for that to happen. “What's up, Doc?” 

“Thank you, Jimmy. Right now I'm speaking to the body of a man named Castiel. Were you aware you are sharing Castiel’s body?” Dr. Mosley asked the most bizarre questions. There was certainly no one else in his body.

“I know it, yeah. It's not the worst body. At least he's an alpha.” The voice that was higher in pitch than his own, continued to pour out of his own throat.

“Can you take us back to the time of your death, please?” The Doctor requested.

“Oof. Okay. Shit. I was in Iraq. I was on the edge of a minefield and then, badaboom.” This ‘Jimmy’ made Castiel’s hands move to form two little explosions, which drew his attention to the fact that he was no longer watching from the vantage point of his own eyeballs, but from off to the side, more towards the doctor. 

“And what happened after that?” Dr. Mosley was taking notes in looping cursive.

“Well, I just kind of sat around and waited for the next poor schmuck to wander into danger. A lot of guys came by, but mostly in trucks. Some cut it close but none of ‘em triggered anything. Then Cas walks up like a man on a mission, and heads straight for another mine that no one’s defused, so I run over to him and I try to yell and wave and then - I’m in. I’m just-” He makes a slurping noise.

“You found yourself inside his body?”

“Yeah. I started yelling and screaming and carrying on and he finally turned around. I saved him. That’s how I knew I was doing a good thing, and I had to stick with him.” Jimmy answered. Castiel watched his own face reflect sentiments that he was sure had never formed from his own thoughts or actions. This thing- this person was wearing his body. Castiel began to search his mind for a memory of a Jim or a James who died in an explosion. Then suddenly he could see the memories in his mind’s eye, like a movie playing only for him. They were Jimmy’s memories. It was surreal.

“And you have been helping Castiel ever since?” Dr. Mosley seemed to impart a hint of sarcasm into the word ‘helping’, but Cas could tell that Jimmy didn’t even notice.”

“That’s right. Not that he needs too much. He’s a real badass. Mostly I try to keep him positive. He doesn’t have any friends, so I keep him company. I wish I knew more about this alpha stuff he’s got going on. I was a beta. Always wanted to be an alpha, ‘n get swept up in the passion of it all.” Castiel frowned at that. Here was something or someone with more desire for him to be fixed than he had on his own. Was his body truly a lost cause?

“How old was Castiel when joined him?” Dr. Mosley spoke this question very slowly, as if she was hoping Castiel would pay extra attention.

“Twenty. I wouldn’t have known that, but he turned 21 and the guys all got him wasted, and I had a hell of a time keeping all the spooky shit out when he was passed out. That’s when they usually get in. When you’re on something, good and wasted.”

“You defended him from other spirits like yourself?” She questioned.

“Nah, I’m a guy.  These were ugly black slimy things that feed on fear and suck you dry. I could see ‘em after I died. They’re all over the place when it comes to war.” Jimmy’s addition to Castiel’s person was sounding more and more like a boon. Castiel watched images from Jimmy’s thoughts flash by as if on a movie screen. Dark shadows suctioned onto poor soldiers who were wasting away as the creature became fatter and fatter in a dimension that couldn’t be seen with the eyes of the living.

“Jimmy, it sounds as if you have done Castiel quite a few favors. I’m sure he appreciates it, now that he’s aware of your presence. However, even though your goal is to help him, he likely has paid a physical price to keep you with him for nearly 20 years now.” Dr. Mosley was a good psychiatrist, leading Jimmy to come to his own conclusions about things, Castiel thought. He might have to visit her sometime and actually get to speak with her as himself. 

“Yeah? Shit. His alpha stuff? Is that me?” 

“There is no way to know unless he gets a chance to try out life without you, honey.” She said, her voice sounding apologetic. “But there is good news. You can move on.”

“Phuh! Back to the dessert? I don’t even know how to get out of here, honestly.”

“No, no going back. Go forward. Find the light, and go towards it.” Dr. Mosley sat back and smiled as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Meanwhile Castiel could feel Jimmy’s anxiety ramping up. It was a good thing no one had asked him what he wanted to happen, because he was stuck dead center on the issue.

“It’s that easy, huh?” Jimmy shuffled Cas’s feet and wiped Cas’s sweaty palms on his knees. “I just wasn’t that great of a person. I killed people! That was my job! How do I know I don’t get fed to one of them black things?” 

“Usually when you go to the light there’s someone there to meet you. Take a good hard look around you. Your guide isn’t going to let the shadows collect you. Not after all the good you tried to accomplish.” 

Castiel could see the world through JImmy’s eyes now.  He could see Dr. Mosley and her orange aura, and watched as the very boring wall became a blinding white light. A man in an officer’s uniform stepped out of the light and gave Jimmy a salute.  Jimmy smiled and let out a relieved sob. 

“It’s my CO!  This is it. I’m gonna do it!” These were the last words Jimmy spoke using Castiel’s mouth. Dr. Mosley’s smile spoke of knowing and satisfaction as she finished taking notes on Jimmy’s final remarks. Castiel watched Jimmy follow his commanding officer into the wall of light, then looked back at the doctor. He was slightly concerned that he was still viewing his body from the outside.

“Alright, Castiel. When I count to seven you will wake up, feeling refreshed.” The doctor addressed his empty shell, and his concern grew. She began counting. She reached six, and Castiel wondered if he had made a horrible mistake.

“Seven.”

Castiel opened his eyes and looked at the doctor. She no longer had an ephemeral glow. The wall was dull grey, once again. He felt hungry and a little bereft, but like a physical human being once again. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face, getting lost in the sensation of the drag of his fingers and the smell of his clammy palms. 

“Was that real?” He coughed. Breathing felt different. Speaking felt different. His voice vibrated his chest cavity differently.

“Well.” Dr. Mosley took a breath, and pasted on a placating smile. “From a purely medical standpoint, no. The scientific best guess as to what just happened to you would be that everything that transpired was a product of your own firing synapses; a creative interpretation of your wild imaginings. That is why I do not now help you research whether or not there was a Jimmy that died in a minefield that you happened upon 18 years ago. I like my title, and I like practicing medicine. Regardless of whether or not my patients are telling the truth when they speak of spirits or demons in a dimension that I cannot perceive, our research has shown that  _ treating _ those spirits as if they are real benefits the patient. And that is what I took an oath to do. So I will continue to speak to whomever or whatever comes out during my sessions, and leave the spiritual implications to be considered by religious types.” She crossed a T on her paper, and snapped the folder shut. “I’d like to speak to you again in a few days to follow up. We will see how you’re feeling, and if you notice any changes after today’s treatment. We may need to put you under once more to be sure that you’re officially you, and only you.”

“This is insane. I saw his memories. I watched him walk into the light. There was someone else there. This has changed everything.” Castiel stood up, after noticing that Dr. Mosley had herself stood up and opened the office door. Even though there was no one in the waiting area, she closed the door again, gently.

“Yes. Your perception of life may be very different now. But yours has been a physical issue. We need to find out if it was a result of your tag-a-long.” Castiel took another deep breath. His lungs felt bigger. The air felt cooler. He had the sudden urge to be cold. Everything he was feeling promised that the icy air would prick at his skin like needles; that he would feel more than a dull throb that was almost boring in how easy it was to ignore.

“Why don’t you call me if things get to be too much.” Dr. Mosley said as she handed him her business card, though Castiel got the distinct impression that he was supposed to be appreciative of this new onslaught of sensation, and not spiraling towards a mental breakdown. 

Did he have intuition now too? Had he always had it? Had Jimmy done something to it? 

Fine. He could do this. He took the card and tucked it into his pocket. He tested his polite smile. It felt different. That was most likely because he had neglected to smile politely at anyone since his release. 

“Aw, it’s good to see you smile. Now I know what all the fuss is about. I’ll have my assistant call you to schedule the follow-up, I do have to get back to my case studies. Bye bye, dear.” 

With that, and a wave, Castiel was suddenly standing alone on the sidewalk of a strip mall, possibly alone for the first time in 18 years, and yet feeling more connected to humanity than ever before. He breathed in the smell of road salt, snow, ice, and sunshine. He could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty. Previous chapters have been based on my limited understanding of people's alternative health research. This chapter is no different. Hypnotherapy and "spirit deposession" are treatments that are being used and documented by psychiatrists around the world. I first heard of this by listening to the mysteriousuniverse.org podcast. Check out episode 20.1.
> 
> Edith Fiore was the pioneer of this work, but the Dr. reported on in the podcast wrote this book: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1571740791/ref=as_li_qf_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=mysteruniver-20&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=1571740791&linkId=1351058441d29a7eafd3a16e7581ecbc
> 
> I just think that it is super interesting that the kick it naturally site is claiming that blood pressure, blood sugar, etc are causing depression, anxiety, hair loss and all sorts of problems- then these psychiatrists are taking people with the same symptoms and freeing them from rogue spirits. What even is life?? So crazy. And great for fiction :-p


	17. No pain, no gain

“Honeydew you love me?” Charlie stood with one hand on her hip, leaning the other hand flat on the desk of her office. She was dressed in some running shorts and a racerback tank top that sported a very nice line drawing of the Millennium Falcon. Her long hair trailed down her back and seemed to vibrate with glowing red energy. Dean stood by the door and stitched his brows together at her angry quipping.

“Come again?” Dean scratched his nose and tried to slow his heart rate down. Getting called into the office by an angry Charlie was something he was not prepared for, for so many reasons. 

“You must. Love me. Because you smell like an over-ripe melon had sex with a bag of Jolly Ranchers, and then cannibalised their Laffy Taffy children. And because I love you  _ like a really infuriating brothe _ r, I was literally just now inches away from trying to curb stomp your very clueless and very much not consenting client, out there.

“I'm not that bad.” Dean looked at the floor. The fact that Charlie was resonating at frequencies usually achieved only after a red eye and a two litre bottle of Mountain Dew spoke volumes about his actual smell, versus what he had believed to be true.

“Sure, when you breezed past the front desk like you were late for something. However, the last three people that walked by your studio have practically swooned. I literally had to call a paramedic for Mr. Deveraux!”

“Ew.” Dean felt nauseated at the thought. Frank was not the kind of attention he had been looking for. “Well at least now he knows his alpha cycle's still goin' strong.” He twisted his features into a face of abject horror. Charlie’s anger broke into a laugh of disbelief.

“In retrospect, you would think I could have just dragged him into a cold shower and called it a day.” She mused. “No wonder the paramedics looked confused. But yeugh! I didn’t want to touch him!”

“I don't blame you. I'm glad you didn't.  I never would have forgave myself for putting you through that.”

“Seriously.” She waved her arms at Dean. “This is enough. It's all I can handle.” She sighed, and her look became serious again. “I called Sam.” She rested her hands on her hips.

“Damnit, Charlie!” Dean snapped. He moved his hands to mirror her stance.

“I know.  But he's a beta. At this point all I care about is your safety, and not jacking anyone else up with your love potion number 69.” 

There was a quiet knock on the door, and then Kevin’s voice came through.

“So how much extra is it to upgrade your Uber driver to a giant of olde?” 

“Ha ha.” Dean heard his brother's voice, quiet and pleasantly deep, and definitely coming from like two feet above Kevin's. He opened the door.

“Holy fruit salad, Batman.” Kevin covered his mouth and nose with his hand after his knee-jerk exclamation. He avoided eye contact with Charlie, gave a quick wave to Sam, and scampered off. 

Dean braved looking up at his younger brother, and was rewarded with a lot less judgement than he was expecting. This was heartening. He had prided himself on giving Sam very few chances to lecture him on omega safety, and he really didn't want that to all be forgotten for this one little misstep, especially before he got a chance to explain himself.

“Alright. Let's go.” Sam gulped, and kind of gestured towards the exit with his head. Dean then noticed that Sam was more tense than he first thought. “Thanks for calling me, Charlie… I guess.”

Dean rolled his eyes and pushed past his brother. He huffed down into the passenger seat of Sam's blue Chevy hatchback, clicked on his seatbelt, then crossed his arms over his chest. Sam came in a moment later, filling the car like a ladle full of thick moose stew. Dean turned his head away slightly, wishing they were in the Impala where they wouldn't be so close together.

“So. What's the deal, Dean?” 

“I don't know. Shoulda been fine to go to work. Wasn't fine to go to work.” He wished they could leave it at that.

“This Castiel guy- have you been messing around with him?” Sam started awkwardly. “Charlie didn't say anything but I got the impression you were-.”

“No! We're not anything. I'm his trainer. This has all been blown way out of proportion.” Dean stared out the window and refused to notice that his pants were uncomfortably damp. It shouldn't have been possible. It was still two days until the full moon. He hadn't done anything abnormal.

“Well Charlie said you were trying to fix him? To jumpstart his cycle?”

“He’s doing Wim Hof. He’s a null. I'm doing my job. I just - I took one tiny little chance.” Dean measured an angry centimeter with his thumb and forefinger. “He can't get into experimental pheromone trials, and I happen to be emitting them for free. I had  _ days _ left before a total lockdown, according to the calendar.  Why would I call in sick to work when I'm training with a null? It shouldn't even matter. He had no clue.” Dean was feeling emotional, and admitting out loud that Cas had no idea that Dean reportedly smelled like Willy Wonka’s salad bar, kind of hurt. It was his last hope for honesty and redemption and it had failed spectacularly in that he couldn't even wonder if perhaps Cas hadn't experienced enough of his pheromones. Instead it was thrown in his face that he had excreted a shit-ton more than expected, and Cas was the only person in a 20 mile radius who was  _ not _ affected.

“So what would have happened if he had responded?” Sam's quiet line of questioning was about to take a turn. Dean could feel it.

“Gee, Sam. I guess we would have made sweet, sweet love right there in Studio 4, my place of business, where I earn my livelihood.” He slapped his knees with sarcastic finality. “Because that's how I roll.”

“That's just it, Dean. Something like that could have gotten way out of control. What if he attacked you? What if he went into a rut? Or even, if you went ahead with…  _ your _ urges and then he had regrets later when his head cleared, that would have literally been the definition of entrapment.” 

“No, Mr. Smart Guy Lawyer, it would not have literally been. Entrapment is  _ tricking _ someone into  _ commiting a crime _ , not being a single omega with some pheromones. There is still such a thing as free will. Your talking about a guy who was in the military. He can handle his shit.”

Sam took a deep breath and teetered his head back and forth while watching the road, seeming relieved for a moment that Dean wasn't stupid enough to get involved with a loose canon.

“Well you have to think that if he suddenly regained his potency, there's a good chance that his decisions wouldn't be very well informed. He could claim pheromone haze or-” Dean shifted in his seat, pointing his knees back towards the driver abruptly enough to cut Sam off mid-whine.

“Okay listen to me. Number one: I fucking hate your worrywart hypotheticals. Number two: who the hell are you to lecture me on what people can and can't control when they're in a pheromone haze? Number three: this whole conversation is a waste of time because Cas thinks that I'm a mother fucking alpha. So I am like  _ this _ , right now, embarrassed, getting sent home from work and getting slick all over my little brother’s car for nothing.” Dean had straightened his back, almost raising out of his seat, but at his final word he plopped back down and curled his back into the cushion, wishing he could just be home already.  He was going to nest so hard when he got there. With a pie. Mess be damned.

“Well.” Sam watched the road ahead, recalibrating his approach now that he had a better understanding of Dean's mood. “It wasn't all for nothing.” 

“Sure. A few more people think I'm a moron who wanders around in public while in heat.” Dean faked positivity.

“Well that's just it. You aren't a moron. You've had yourself under control from the get-go. Have you ever gotten the date wrong before?” Sam glanced over with an earnest expression. Thankfully he had to look ahead once more as he pulled them into Dean's driveway.

“No.” Dean grumbled. He reached for the door handle as they came to a stop. 

“Dean.” Sam's tone pleaded with Dean to finish the conversation before exiting. Dean dropped the door handle. “Who made your heat come days early? Have you been seeing anyone? Exposed to any weird chemicals? Eating differently or sleeping more, or less?” Dean shook his head in the negative. He sighed.

“Just Cas.  I haven't been  _ seeing _ him.” Dean glared at Sam for his old lady wording. “I've just been training him more than a usual client, and then helping out a little with nutrition, and eating.”

“Well maybe whatever you're doing is helping him.” Sam looked satisfied. “He’s a null so maybe he's all ...dammed up, and if a little trickle of something gets out, he's not gonna notice right away. But you're like a sponge that's almost at maximum pheromone capacity. Once you absorb his trickle, you get an overload.” Sam looked satisfied, as if he had just solved everything.

“Speaking of trickles.” Dean reached for the handle and opened the door.

“Gross. Get out of here.” Sam waved Dean out of the car. “Do you have everything you need?” He called, as an afterthought. Dean flipped him off over his shoulder.

Dean’s house was cool, and smelled like home. His discomfort felt like it was expanding out to fill each room he entered, getting temporarily diffused in the large, familiar spaces. He did a full body shake, the air getting punched out of his lungs making it sound like he was a braying horse. You could do these things when you were alone. And hell, he was shortly going to start fucking himself with all manner of dildos, so a silly shake was nothing.

The ritual of setting himself up for a solo heat, albeit a little rushed, was a helpful distraction. He secured the pie and meats and cheeses. He stashed water in a few strategic locations. He installed some knots at convenient heights, then stripped off his shirt and cooled off on his bed sheet, unwilling to shower off the microbes he may have collected from Cas. Gross and pathetic, yes. But comforting, especially considering Sam's theory that Cas had started all this in motion. Dean sighed, and began to feel the burning heat build in his core. He couldn't believe he had never considered that working with Castiel could have a physical effect on him. Charlie had worried in the beginning. Dean had scoffed and cited life with his dad. Now it was clear that that may have been ignorant. 

Dean shifted his hips and sighed again. He was beginning to feel clammy. He thought of Castiel, and whined. Somewhere outside of his home were at least a hundred people who would gladly have sex with him. He was a super-fit, clean, friendly omega with nice teeth and a symmetrical face. Castiel Novak was not one of those people. He was 13 years Dean’s senior, and had not shown even the slightest interest in anyone. Dean slid his shorts off, and sprang free of them. He stroked himself gently, his forehead creased with the pout of someone who wanted the one thing they couldn't have. He thought of Cas’s body. It may have been a creep move to fantasize about his client, but there was only so many times you could watch a gently worn man step out of an ice bath, skin pulled tight and pink over his rippling muscles.  Dean teased his own tight, pink skin, breathing in sharply. This train of thought was getting him where he needed to go, and he begrudgingly decided to ride it to the end of the line. 

He flipped over with a huff and rutted into the wet spot his slick had made underneath him. Sometimes he would pretend it was some other omega's wet spot.  Heats spent entirely alone were few and far between, lately, and he always liked to indulge in the most impractical fantasies. Celebrity threesomes were a staple. He pictured his favorite Latina soap star a buxom little omega with kinky brown hair named Lenora, kissing him messily, then wiggling her way under him to suck on his cock. Cas would reach out to finger her, the other hand resting on Dean's raised ass, finger circling Dean's dripping hole.

Dean would swat Cas’s hand off of that little slut, fisting the sheet to stop himself from pulling her back out from under him, by her hair. He was suddenly gritting his teeth.

Okay. That was weirdly violent and possessive. Maybe he needed to back off trying to drag Cas into this scenario. 

He sat himself up, catching a glimpse of his glistening torso in his dresser mirror as he got to his knees and shuffled over to the dildo that snapped over the thick nylon strap he had put around his mattress. He inched himself onto it, wet enough to have gone faster, but there was no rush, yet. He thought about Benny, remembering how the man was a combination of hard and soft, like a thin layer of memory foam over a hot water heater. Dean leaned his back into the headboard and pictured Benny behind him, under him, while imaginary Lenora crawled seductively up the bed in front of him. Without prompting, his mind put Cas in the doorway, wearing his signature trench coat and watching with his mouth open slightly, in shock. Dean immediately booted Lenora right out of the fantasy. Cas needed to be watching Dean, and her ass would have been in the way.  Now imaginary Cas could take in the whole picture of Dean riding another alpha.

Uhg. That just seemed cruel, more than sexy. Dean wasn't into jealousy.  _ Adios _ Benny. Dean wondered if just fantasizing that Cas was watching him, fully clothed from six feet away, was enough to make it enjoyable for him, and help distract him from the gnawing need to be filled and come. Having a workable fantasy was imperative.  Dean had learned that the hard way, and was not interested in vigorously knotting himself while quietly crying about his mounting credit card debt and the fact that no one loved him enough to take care of him during his heat. No thank you. A good mental game was key. He took a deep breath and swapped out clothed Castiel for a fresh-from-a-cold-shower, swathed in a white towel version. This Castiel had needed to borrow Dean's shower, and was standing agape in the hallway, nipples erect, confronted with a writhing, heat-crazed omega. Dean pretended that Cas could see him exactly as he was, toys strewn around the room, trembling and sweaty on a dark brown KnotMaster3000. Dean would put on a show for him, moaning and being a little rough with himself, anything to show the alpha that he didn't necessarily  _ need _ him biologically but he  _ wanted  _ him to see him, and whatever else that the alpha chose to contribute, even if it was just his laser blue eyes boring through him.

Dean yelped, slid down onto the dildo hard and came at the thought of Cas watching him, Cas’s expression unreadable, but possibly appalled. Dean triggered the KnotMaster, and it expanded inside him thanks to the whir of a little air pump. Well that was awesome. Conscience be damned. Celebrities were out, and the serious, 40-year-old-virgin Castiel of his imagination was here for the duration. If he could have a few more stellar knots like that, the rest of the heat could be spent half asleep, jerking off with a vibrating plug. And there was always a Dr. Sexy marathon on at some point to make him feel less like he was locked in a fortress of solitude.

His phone buzzed, and brought him back to reality. He had stashed it on his bedside table, plugged in and charging. It was a text. Generally no one tried contacting an omega during their heat. He lunged sideways and grabbed the phone, KnotMaster turning sideways, the motor giving a faint vibration that knocked another wave of orgasm out of him, which mad him gasp with pleasure. 

_ Hello Dean. I'm not sure what happened to you, today. I hope you are well. ~ Cas _

Oh yeah. Dean was just dandy.  He was fantasizing about a guy that didn't even know he had a uterus. Everything was peachy.

_ Thx cas ~ Dean _


	18. Lavender lemonade

Waking up the morning after possibly having a hitchhiking spirit exorcised from your soul is anticlimactic. Castiel’s knees still popped as he stood up, and he still thought rude thoughts about the neighbor dog that had been barking since 6:30 am. But the knee pops were louder than he remembered, and his annoyance at the dog swelled up like a tide that nearly choked him for a second. That was different. At least, he thought it was. Or maybe he was overthinking everything. 

He checked his phone. There were no new messages, and the day was forecast to be cloudy and cold. The last thing Dean had written him was his short reply from the night before, so he assumed nothing too drastic had occurred in the impromptu meeting with Charlie. That was good. Castiel didn't think he was ready for too many changes at once, and as it was he was already being forced to skip a week of Zimno visits due to Dean's heat.

_ Dean's heat? _ No. Dean's rut. Rut. Not heat. Though Dean in heat didn't sound like an unpleasant image. Cas shook the idea out of his head. It was no use dwelling on the impossible. 

He sat down in his empty kitchen and ate a greek yogurt. He had never noticed how lacking the kitchen was in decor or accouterments. It wasn't the sort of thing he felt compelled to run out and remedy, but he made a mental note. The walls in the kitchen were a dull yellow, and the area behind the stove was grease spattered and grody. He had been cooking a little, and this was an unfortunate side effect.

He looked around a little harder and realized that his house lacked a good number of basic comforts. In the living room there was only a stale, tweed loveseat and an easychair, and they surrounded a defunct fireplace that currently had his meager collection handyman tools stacked haphazardly on the mantle. There was a bookcase not yet assembled, still leaning against the wood paneled center wall with a cardboard box filled with novels he had never gotten to read. 

Maybe he'd do something about that after he went for a run. 

He was through his breathing exercises, and down the front steps in nothing but his shorts, shoes and socks before his mind wandered back to Jimmy. What was he? Was he real? Was it all just a product of Castiel’s imagination? What if spirits were real, but they were twisted and evil? Was it an elaborate hoax? Had he unknowingly signed a waiver that allowed the insanity of his visit with Dr. Mosley to be broadcast on live television?

There was really no definitive answer. Well actually, he was positive that he had only filled out and signed standard medical paperwork, so there were no hidden TV waivers. The facts remained, few and far between. He was a practical man who had vivid memories of his consciousness leaving his body to watch someone or something else use it like a ventriloquist dummy. He wasn't even sure if Dr. Mosley knew what she was dealing with. She just knew that it worked,  and somehow if that was enough for her, Castiel would try and make it enough for him as well.

The week went on, and Castiel got to experience the repetition of a dull, lonely life in a subtly different way. He went out and grabbed a burger for lunch on Monday, and nearly fainted at the first bite. Perhaps he was very just hungry, but he just didn’t remember burgers tasting so damn good. It made him very happy. 

The next bit of strangeness occurred at the elevators at the VA clinic. It wasn’t a tall building, having maybe six floors, yet on two separate occasions (Tuesday and Thursday) he offered to ride to the sixth floor with two separate ladies who were afraid to ride elevators alone. Each time the women had stated they would get off and take the stairs at his stop. Each time he had smiled politely and offered to ride up the rest of the way. Maybe if this happened once or twice in a lifetime it would be considered unremarkable. Twice in one week was just absurd. 

Finally, while taking out some cash at the bank he was approached by a little girl no more than four years old who had seen him waiting in line and swiped him a lollipop because “you look sad and they don’t give these to grown-ups.” Not wanting to add “crying in a bank” to the list of things he spoke to his therapist about, he thanked the girl and quickly escaped to the privacy of his own car. 

_ Feelings are overrated. _ His brain informed him as he did some deep breathing, thinking he’d evaporate his tears before they had enough mass to go anywhere. He ate the lollipop, and it helped.

On Friday he drove by the strip mall where Zimno was located, and considered going in and just using the facilities. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how. He didn’t really need a buddy, and he had seen other people using it like a regular gym, coming and going as they pleased. He sat in the car and watched people go in and out. He didn’t know any of them. 

_ I miss Dean,  _ he thought, which was new. When had he merged into one being with the voice in his head? It had spent so much time yelling at him, he wasn’t sure when it had decided to accept that they were one in the same. Thanks to Dr. Mosley? Or maybe they had merged once he had gotten his electrolytes up. He had gained two pounds back. He was eating regular meals. Dean had once told him that Gabriel’s health curriculum correlated low blood pressure with depression. Or was it anxiety? He was sure that whatever he was recollecting poorly was a gross oversimplification.

Speaking of Gabriel, Cas’s gaze wandered down the strip to a small store on the end with a gaudy, airbrushed sign that screamed “Smell Ya Later”. Essential oils. He had heard of them. He could probably use some kind of fragrance in his home.

He was opening the door of the shop before he realized that his body had taken action. It smelled amazing, though he couldn’t tell you what was making it smell amazing, and he struggled hard to prevent this from being one more silly little thing that brought tears to his eyes.

“Hellooooooo nurse!” Gabriel was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on a worn, wooden executive desk. “Cas, right?”

“Yes.” He bit his tongue on correcting to “Castiel,” thinking he was four letters closer to having a second friend, this way. “How are you?”

“Good. I’m great. Thanks for asking.” Gabriel was wearing salmon colored slacks and a grey polo shirt. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” 

“I-” Castiel hadn’t really considered what he’d say, beforehand. “I’d like to know more about what you do with oils?” 

“Are you sure? You don’t really sound super into it. Can you ask again with more conviction?” Gabriel teased him as he jumped to his feet and began to busy himself with a basket of little brown bottles.

“What  _ do  _ you do with oils?” Castiel questioned. The bottles were so tiny and they all looked the same. He couldn’t imagine one getting much use out of such a small amount of anything.

“Ya smell ‘em!” Gabriel crowed. He lined the little bottles up, checking the tags on the lids to see what he was handling. “And a whole lot of other things. But we’re going to start with smells, because something tells me you’ve been missing out.”

Castiel stepped up to the desk just as Gabriel unscrewed the first bottle. The shorter man wafted it under Castiel’s nose, and Castiel breathed in, slightly embarrassed by the whistle in his sinus.

“Mmm. Mint.” Castiel guessed. 

“Peppermint.” Gabriel corrected. “This is actually good for the breathing, and headaches. Do you get a lot of headaches?” Gabriel blinked up at Cas, expectantly, while dragging a small pad of paper over to make notes.

“Not really.” Cas admitted. It was a shame. The peppermint was very pleasant. 

“Well it also helps sharpen you mentally. You like it?”

“Sure.” 

“Nope. Not excited enough. Let’s move on. Basil.” Gabriel wafted another little bottle under Castiel’s nose. It was basil, alright, in all its concentrated glory. He cringed slightly, which caused Gabriel to give up on the basil and pick up something else. “Lavender?” Gabriel tried. Castiel wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Hmm. One of  _ those _ people.” Gabriel mocked. 

“What do you mean?” Cas glared back.

“Lavender is supposed to chill you out. Everyone knows that. But there are a select few who just smell it and get kinda angry. It’s like the exact opposite effect.” Gabriel began rummaging through his basket. When it didn’t produce the bottle he wanted, he took off to the shelves.

“What do those people like instead?” Cas watched and felt unhelpful as Gabriel ransacked his library of oils.

“Good, clean, dirt.” Gabriel piped up, obviously trying to be facetious. Castiel swallowed, suddenly hit by the locomotive of emotion that was apparently waiting for him around every corner. He swallowed a second time. 

“That’s what my cousin Meg always told me I smelled like.” He admitted to Gabriel, the very forward omega whom he hardly knew. Why he shared this, he didn’t know, but it felt like letting it out was a way to divert the train and avoid the collision. Gabriel smiled a wide smile, and gave up his search for the perfect oil.

“Of course you did. Which is sad, because you are just too cute for words. But hey, I’m partial to lavender so it’s all good.” The sentiment in Gabriel’s voice sounded kinder than the words, so Castiel chose to ignore whatever he meant by it. “I should have asked you, what are you looking for? What’s your thing that is bothering you that we can try and fix with oils?” Gabriel ceased his searching and came back over to sit down with his pen and notepad. Castiel sat in one of the consultation chairs across the desk. 

“Uh. I’m me. Null. There’s probably not- I mean, I’m not having trouble sleeping or anything like that. I can have a temper, I suppose.” He clasped his hands between his knees. It wasn’t fair that everywhere he went he was made to confess his shortcomings to near strangers. He’d tell himself that these people likely had shortcomings of their own, but the repetition on the theme was getting to him. 

“Well, Cas, here’s the deal. There’s plenty of oils that can help work on your pheromone system. I mean, 90% of the oils here have similar qualities, antispasmodic, antidepressant, anti inflammatory, et cetera, et cetera. On one hand, most of the time I gotta warn that this is a super concentrated substance. A lot of them are ‘hot’ which means you don’t put them directly on your skin. Some of them make you sun sensitive. No matter the case, just because they are so super potent doesn’t mean they work like a pharmaceutical. I don’t just take a whiff of ylang ylang and cure a depression. But, ylang ylang  _ is _ a very powerful mood elevator, and aphrodisiac.” Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, playfully. “So we can set you up with some nice oils that will support your goals, but be aware that they are not miracle cures, and that the FDA has not evaluated or confirmed anything that I’ve said to you today.  Or ever, really. I am not FDA approved.”

“Thank you for your honesty. I will take what I can get, despite the lack of rigorous scientific testing.” 

“That's not exactly what I meant, but alrighty. Let’s hook you up.” Gabriel clapped and rubbed his hands together, gleefully. “You don’t love lavender, so we’re gonna go with ylang-ylang, rose, and this holiday blend I have that’s got cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger all rolled into one. Yes it sounds delicious. No I can’t tell you it’s safe to eat your oils. Yes I always win the holiday cookie contest. Every. GD. Year.” Gabriel pulled a fancy little brown bag out from his desk and began collecting new bottles of the oils he had named for Castiel’s aromatherapy.

After Castiel asked how to best smell them, Gabriel had a good laugh, then packaged up a little personal diffuser as well. The price of everything was surprising, but Castiel didn’t have many expenses and this was a medical one, albeit alternative, holistic medicine. He wondered if Dean would laugh at him for falling for Gabriel’s spiel, or if he would be proud that Castiel was taking an interest in his health and well-being. Luckily, he would be able to get Dean’s opinion on Monday. He only needed to fill two more days with meaningless trite.

On Saturday morning he bought paint for the kitchen and living room. He had two coats of a light grey-blue on the kitchen by Saturday night, and easily started and finished the living room on Sunday, even having time to assemble the bookshelf that turned out to complement the sage green living room walls nicely. 

On Monday when Cas got to Zimno, it felt familiar, which he supposed meant that he had missed it. He entered the studio where he usually met Dean, and was relieved to see the man's gym bag sitting open on a bench. They were back to normal, and all would be right with the world. Castiel took a deep breath in through his nose. The smell of paint had followed him from his house. 

“Hello, Dean.” He announced himself. Dean turned and gave him a smile. 

“Hey, Cas. How’s it going?” Dean was carrying two yoga mats to the middle of the floor. He looked very fresh.  Or sharp. Or like he’d recently gotten a haircut. 

“Good.” Cas shuffled. He wanted to blurt out that he’d been painting his house and that he had helped two different frightened women ride the elevator and that he had been diffusing a holiday blend for 48 hours straight and somehow felt more vital for it. “You look well.”

“Do I?” Dean looked perplexed, but his eyes were clear and bright in the late morning sun. 

“Yes.” Castiel gave up on elaborating, because he could not think of a good synonym for ‘sparkly’, and he did not want to admit that that's how he thought Dean looked.

“Well you don't look so bad yourself. I'm gone for a week and that's when you decide to make progress?” Dean pretended to be annoyed.

“I have gained some weight back. Other than that I'm the same.” Castiel lied.

“I dunno.” Dean waves his nose back and forth, looking up with a thoughtful expression. “You're not as… um. Well less like aluminum and more like iron. Maybe that’s good.” Castiel refused to dare to hope something in his scent had actually changed. He couldn't smell anybody at all. His senses had dulled to his oils very quickly. Even in the studio that was constantly holding different people, he could smell nothing more than the fruity air freshener.

“I bought some essential oils from Gabriel.” Castiel admitted, thankful that it was finally appropriate information. 

“Oh cool.” Dean smiled wide and they discussed the the different benefits of oils for a couple minutes before beginning their breathing exercises.

As their session progressed, Castiel was once more presented with a conundrum he would not be able to unravel. Would that day's cold shower have felt like burning hot thumbtacks pricking into his skin, or would the sauna have felt like entering a telephone booth filled with liquid hot magma if it hadn't been for the removal of Jimmy? Or was it just the result of a week off? Was Castiel changing for the better, or had he regressed? Dean seemed slightly bemused at his more expressive reactions, but still just as supportive as always. 

For their last activity, Dean had them do a couple of cool-down laps around the building. Because they were in a very public space, he decided they would keep their tee shirts on. Castiel happily complied, but after the second lap he was starting to sweat through the thin black cotton. When they returned, Dean commented on how good Cas was getting at warming his core.

“One benefit of that is I'm stuck in a damp shirt for the ride home.” He griped.

“Here. Borrow mine.” Dean walked over to his duffel bag, shuffled around inside, then tossed him a grey Zimno tee shirt. Castiel peeled off his own shirt and put on Dean’s, a bit deflated that he still didn't fill it out as well as Dean did.

When he got in his car, Cas noticed that the fruity air freshener smell had stuck to him. When he entered his house he smelled it again, in contrast to the still diffusing holiday blend that was battling the fresh latex paint. He shucked off the shirt, anyway, resolved to the fact that even though he'd worn it only a few minutes, he would now be required by common courtesy to wash it. He left it draped over a chair and went to take a shower.

In the shower he ran a neutral soap around his body aimlessly. He lifted his arm and turned his head and suddenly something clicked. 

_ Omega. _

The fruit smell that had followed him home from Zimno was on his skin, mixing with his sweat and the steam of the shower and it smelled like an omega.  _ He _ could smell an omega. He was in the shower, breathing in the scent of omega, off his very own skin. He reached forward and turned the water off, afraid that he was too late to save any of the scent for later. He stood in the bathtub too worried to towel dry. Where had it come from?

_ The shirt. _

Castiel was over the side of the tub, running naked down the hallway to grab the worn grey t-shirt from off the chair. He picked it up and smelled it, stuffing it under his nose and feeling small bits of fabric flying into his sinus cavities as he inhaled. He smelled…  _ melon _ ? That couldn't be. Melons were traditionally what omegas smelled like when in heat. Was Castiel really smelling an omega in heat right now? 

He stomped off to his bedroom, shirt in hand. He picked out a tee shirt and some track pants, one handed. He dressed, still clutching the shirt. He sniffed it again. Maybe his senses were improving, but it smelled more human this time. He was nearly positive that he was actually scenting an omega.

He threw the shirt down onto his couch, turned on his heel and exitted the house. On the porch closed his eyes, pointed his face skyward, gulped in some deep breaths, trying to clear out the air inside his nostrils. Maybe he was reading too much into a fruity smell. It could be the new craze in laundry detergent. Maybe Dean wanted his clothes to smell like heat. Castiel couldn't fathom why an alpha would choose a product like that, 

He whirled around and went back inside. The shirt was where he left it, and this time he could smell it before he could even reach it. His mouth watered. He touched it, gingerly, then smelled his hand. He was starting to pick up nuances that had long gone unnoticed by his system, and he wondered how he ever thought he was simply smelling the cloying fruitiness of an air freshener, when this was the multilayered, intricate smell of a real live omega; apples and walnuts and honeydew.

_ Dean. _ _   
_

Cas picked up the shirt, slid into his shoes and marched out to his car. He didn’t know how he was going to locate Dean’s house, but he vaguely remembered Dean mentioning driving by it on their trip to the store. It didn’t matter. He would find it. 

While he drove, all he could think about was the smell. Omega. He needed to get to the source, without showers and paint and detergents in the way. But how? 

He jammed on the brakes when he noticed a large black Chevy Impala parked in the driveway of a small white house.  _ Dean. _ He whipped his car in behind the Impala and threw it in park. He grabbed the shirt and wrenched open his car door, not shutting it behind him. At the front door his higher brain function let him pause for a moment to wonder if any of this was a good idea, or even remotely rational. Too late for an answer, the door was opened by Dean, looking as sparkly as before, but softer around the edges, as if he had been sleeping.

“Hey, Cas. Didn’t realize you knew where I lived.” He said it jokingly, with only a small hint of concern lurking in the back.

“You said you were single!  _ This is all just for little old me.  _ That's what you told me!” The words erupted out of Castiel with a vehemence that physically hurt his throat.

“I am...” Dean frowned, and it made Castiel’s stomach hurt. “Did you just drive all the way here to give me my shirt back?” 

“I don't understand why you feel the need to look me in the face and tell me lies when I'm aware that there has been an omega- an  _ in heat _ omega- wearing your clothes!” Part of Castiel wanted to throw the shirt away for dramatic effect, but he couldn't get his hand to stop clutching it.  He couldn’t get his hand to stop shaking, Dean’s eyes widened.

“Who told you that?” 

“I can SMELL them.” Cas growled. “Why are you lying?” 

“Cas that's amazing!"

"Certainly not something you expected, considering how easily you lied to me."

I am not lying!” Dean yelled, finally lured into a fight. “I don't have an omega. And why would it matter to you, anyway?”

“Why would it-?” Castiel’s voice fell an octave as he tilted his head and squinted, his eyes appearing to be entirely closed. “Because for the first time in over a decade I can smell an omega. Not every omega. Not even a  _ few  _ omegas. I can smell this one omega.” He held out the shirt. “You did this to me. You used your omega’s clothing as bait. You baited me to smell this omega, and now you are denying their existence.” 

“ _ He.”  _ Dean shot back. “The omega is a guy. And that’s seriously what you think I did?” Dean looked angry, but Cas didn’t care. Dean was an obstacle between him and his omega.  _ Not his omega. _ The omega he could smell. He could take Dean out if he had to. It would serve him right.

“Where is he? I know he’s been here. Your house is covered in the scent.” Cas glanced through the doorway behind Dean, and thought he might have caught some movement in the hall. 

But what was he  _ thinking _ ? Dean had an omega-  _ Dean’s omega _ \- and Cas was demanding to scent him. No one in their right mind would let another alpha into their home in that state, or for that purpose. There would be no real life omega for Castiel. He needed to direct his frantic energy inward to calm his alpha. He needed to thank Dean for his help, and back away from his door. He needed to apologize, beg forgiveness, and hope he would not be prosecuted for his inexcusable actions. He took a deep breath, consciously slowing his heart rate.  _ Omega?  _ His alpha asked, hopefully. Castiel swallowed. So much of what he had done could not be reversed. Perhaps it didn’t matter what he did next. 

“Please.” His voice broke, and he couldn’t look anywhere but the ground. “I apologize.” He made himself drop the shirt in front of Dean. “You don’t have to trust me, but I- If you’d just let me see him.”  He raised his eyes to meet Dean’s, slowly, then flinched. Dean may have been a liar, but he was lying for a reason. He was lying to protect an omega from whatever Cas was going to become after his treatment. If Dean’s next move didn’t involve calling the police, Castiel was going to start questioning  _ his _ sanity. 

“Pick up the shirt and come in the house.” Dean turned on his heel and entered the dark hallway, flipping the lights on when he got to the end. Cas swallowed, but could not stop himself from following with measured steps. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not ready for the end.   
> Tell me about any mistakes. I can take it.  
> I never thought I liked writing angst. I'm still on the fence about liking it.   
> I'm being rushed off the computer by my kid.


	19. The Role of the Amygdala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there a callback to vetiver from like 10 chapters ago? Yes!  
> Here's another fun fact: vetiver is a cooling oil. COOLING. Because, you know, omegas go into heat. And also this story is about cold therapy. It'll all make sense later.  
> *NSFW*

Dean walked Cas into the house, his back and neck exposed and vulnerable, but all he could focus on was what Cas might think of him when he found out the truth. Dean's main hallway featured a modest smattering of family photos, and he winced as he passed by a snapshot of Sam’s graduation.  His brother would flip if he knew the situation Dean had put himself in. Once he was finished cringing he stopped walking, listening for the quiet creaks of Cas’s footsteps, which had dropped away. Dean turned to see where he'd gone.

“It's you.” Cas was staring at him as if he were a ghost. Dean took a deep breath.

“Cas, I-”

“This house is yours and yours alone.  The men in the photos are your ‘sasquatch’ of a brother or your late father. Yet every inch of this dwelling is permeated in the smell of omega.” Cas employed the air quotes that usually made Dean snort with laughter, so Dean took an emboldened step forward. Cas did not smile. “It's you.” 

Dean looked at the floor, his voice dropping as low as his eyeline.

“At first you just assumed, and I let you because I thought it was what you deserved for being kind of a jerk.” 

It was Cas’s turn to look guilty. He swallowed and looked distant, perhaps remembering his behavior when first starting at Zimno. His eyes sharpened again.

“Why now?” Cas had to cough the words past a clog in his throat.

“I wanted to keep you.” Dean felt like he was trying to whisper, but the tense stillness caused his quietest admission to coat the walls like another layer of his scent. 

“As your  _ client _ .” Cas seemed desperate for the clarity of an outright rejection. Dean’s heart sank, but he figured after all his deception it would only be fair that he now showed his hand, regardless of the outcome. 

“As mine. If you ever wanted an omega, or just an anything, I wanted it to be me.”

Castiel stepped forward, slowly. One step. Two. On the third he was standing a breath away, eyes squinting at Dean as if he were an obstacle to overcome and not the scared, young omega spitting in the face of biology’s traditions and and talking about his feelings instead of literally just running. 

“May I?” 

Dean leaned forward, twisting ever so slightly, and Cas met him, trembling, nose above scent gland, right hand grasping Dean's left wrist for support. The older man inhaled a deep and measured breath, and it felt like someone was pulling all of Dean's blood to his throat with an electromagnet. He reached forward with his right hand and loosely grasped Cas’s left wrist so that they formed some kind of perfect circuit.

“You smell like apples.” Cas mumbled into Dean's neck, hopefully smiling. Dean couldn't see, but he wanted to believe that the sparklers going off in his blood were contagious. 

“You actually don't smell at all.” Dean meant it to be encouraging, the tang of metal no longer detectable.

Castiel jolted his head back so quickly he might have strained himself. He dropped Dean's left hand and tried to back away. Luckily Dean tightened his grip, keeping them connected, and keeping Cas from fleeing from whatever frightening emotion had just confronted him.

“Dean, I am broken. I am also much older than you.” He tried to look stern, which might have worked if his eyes weren’t shining from giddily drinking in Dean's scent a moment before.

“Please, just relax.” Dean kept one hand wrapped around his wrist, and reached out with the other to cup the back of Castiel's head and gently bring it into his neck once more. He hoped he was exuding more calm than he felt. However he smelled, Cas complied. “You know. I thought about you a lot during my… heat.” Cas sucked in a noseful of omega. He rested his cheek on Dean's shoulder for a moment.

“Why?” Cas sounded confused and broken. “I will likely never be able to perform even half as effectively as the alpha in your fantasies. Or any real alpha, which I'm sure you have no trouble attracting.” He reached a hand up to clasp Dean’s waist, squeezed for a moment, then let it drop away.

“See, no, Cas.” Dean let his body melt towards the alpha’s, angling his hips, bending a knee slightly until they were flush against each other. “You just watched me. That's all you had to do. And I pretended that it meant you wanted me.” 

Dean could feel Cas’s breathing fall in line with his own like the greatest yoga pose ever created. Then he felt Cas begin to very gently and deliberately extricate himself from his affection. Dean nearly whined out loud.

“I am sorry. I need to clear my head.” Cas looked around as if he'd forgotten where he was. 

“Yeah. Yeah sure. No problem.” Dean stepped back, running into the wall slightly with his shoulder. 

“You-” Cas stood in the middle of the hall now, physically closed in on himself. His jaw flexed the muscle in his temples. “You think you could be content? If all I could do was scent you? No alpha at all?” Dean rolled his eyes, but softened the gesture by looking around, putting off direct eye contact and pushing his weight off the wall.

“I just like you. If you get your powers back, I'll still like you. If you lose ‘em completely again, same thing.” Dean was beginning to feel foolish. His crush had been easier to articulate when they were skin to skin. However, Cas was heading to the door, so that was apparently Dean's closing argument. He cursed internally. It wasn't good enough. Cas must have known that he ultimately wanted something different, someone who wasn't Dean; probably someone older or more sophisticated. Dean was just making a simple case of biology awkward.  All he had been to Cas was a secret producer of pheromones. A first of many. He wasn't special, he was just a signal that things were going to be looking up for the alpha.

“You're probably confused. It's supposedly natural to want what you can't have.” Cas reached behind himself and found the doorknob, which he quickly used to let himself out. 

Dean stood in the hallway and felt the singing in his blood turn into a haunting wail. He rubbed his eyes, confused about what time it was, and why he was home; whether he was supposed to stay there, or if he had somewhere to go. He vaguely remembered it was close to a meal time but he felt full to the point of nausea. Thinking about the last five minutes made his brain throb, so he began working his way back to reality with broad statements.

Cas was getting better.  Cas was almost there. Dean did that. He smiled, grimly, and wiped a palm down his face. So what if Cas didn't want him? Dean was used to disappointment, and at least he could still lay claim to an accomplishment. Maybe Cas was right about Dean wanting what he couldn't have. It was true. A mother. A father. Companionship. His own family. All things he wanted on a daily basis that just didn't seem like they were in the cards. That didn't mean there weren't plenty of things that he wanted that he  _ could _ have. His health. A great body. A good job. Great sex with beautiful people. 

At the thought of sex, his slick producers rushed to inform him that they were lubed and ready to meet the alpha that had gotten him all hot and bothered. Meanwhile his legs began to burn as if he'd just run a downhill marathon. Wet, cramping, and alone, he decided crying wasn't looking like that bad of an option. It was natural, probably, after experiencing a sudden change of emotion; hope to rejection in one fell swoop. He took a deep breath and rolled out the red carpet for the tingling behind his eyes, when his front door was thrown open. 

“It causes me physical pain to step out any further than your front steps. I just nearly hyperventilated while trying to give you some space. Please may I come back in?” The alpha was panting, and his eyes had become red and bloodshot from whatever stresses he faced on the porch.

“So, what? You're back because you can't take the pain?” Dean looked at the ceiling as he spoke, and wiped his eyes with his knuckles as nonchalantly as possible. 

“I can take it.” Cas glared, and Dean believed him. “I just wanted to be sure there was no chance you were feeling anything even remotely similar.” Cas stepped inside and kicked the door shut with his foot. 

“Well I had chalked it all up to a mental breakdown but now that you mention it, I did just feel like I was dying.” Cas frowned at Dean's flippant assessment.

“We are somehow connected. Can that happen?” Cas stalked Dean until they were in each other's personal space. “It ceases to hurt when we are in close proximity.” 

“Well then I’m sorry. You're stuck with me. Lucky you.” Dean's sarcasm dripped like his neglected taint.

“Dean, this is unacceptable!” Castiel the angry drill sergeant was in full force.

“Unacceptable?” Dean bristled. He was an unintentional motherfucking  _ bondmate _ , not a bed made with sloppy corners. “Jesus Christ, Cas! What is your problem?!”

“My  _ problem _ is that  _ my omega  _ is the most beautiful person I've ever met and he deserves to have the best and most capable alpha providing for his happiness, even if that alpha is not me!” 

All at once, being sprayed with angry consonants was a small price to pay. Dean had a complex.  _ His alpha _ had a complex. It would make sense to anyone who’d bothered to notice that the Universe was generally a bastard with a twisted sense of humor.

“Okay. I’m fucking done talking.” The omega declared, then stripped off his shirt.

Cas only had a moment to tilt his head and squint in confusion before Dean surged forward the final two inches so that he was kissing his alpha. He felt a quick shift of weight as Cas’s knees went momentarily weak, and Dean smiled onto his mouth as he felt the same flood of endorphins release from his own  amygdala. Heat sex highs for him  _ and _ his partner without the burn of an actual heat? Oh, this was gonna be good. 

Cas regained his footing and pushed them back into the wall. Dean pushed his erection into the crease of Cas’s thigh, and gyrated his hips experimentally. He let his head fall backwards out of their kiss and knock against the wall in a gasp. Castiel pressed forward and began sucking on Dean’s neck, just under his left scent gland. It was distracting as hell, but not so much that Dean didn’t notice there was something hard beginning to rut against him. He reached a hand down to feel, but felt Cas momentarily freeze up.  _ Fuck it,  _ Dean decided,  _ good things come on those who wait.  _ Instead he dragged his fingers up and pushily stripped Cas of his own thin tee shirt. 

Clothing really was the worst invention ever. Dean pushed his shorts to the floor, fully exposing himself, and leaving a wet spot on the wall when Cas began to manhandle his hips while attacking the other side of his neck with light licks and slightly more urgent nips. Speaking of nips, his could probably cut diamonds. He pulled Cas’s chest flush with his own and swayed against it, gently, letting the smattering of chest hair and Cas’s own hardened nubs stimulate him even closer to orgasm. Every swipe was  _ so good _ . Dean reached around to the small of his back and secured one of Castiel’s hands, which had become useless as anything other than a cushion between Dean’s tailbone and the wall. Arching his back, he drew Castiel’s hand up to his crack while rubbing his chest against the alpha once more. Cas’s eyes widened as he felt the gush of slick that came with the rather underrated motion. 

Castiel brought his hand out from behind Dean and stared at it, raising it towards his face before suddenly reconsidering. With a thud he dropped to his knees and used his wet hand to slick up Dean’s straining erection. 

Dean’s cock was like everything else, unexpectedly large for an omega. This didn’t deter Cas in the slightest, and after three slow and careful pulls, he held his hand still at the root and began licking Dean’s slick off of his cock like a starving man, and definitely unlike anyone who thought they knew anything about blowing someone. It didn't matter. Dean’s panting sped up as he was licked and suckled erratically. He let it go on for as long as could manage to keep his legs under him, and his thighs were trembling when he reached down and pulled Cas back to his feet with just a soft tug of his dark hair. It was so worth it, to see the alpha red that flashed for a moment as he looked up at Dean through his thick eyelashes. 

Dean took Castiel’s hand and pulled them to his bedroom. The alpha’s bulge had grown, much to Dean’s delight, but Cas still made no indication of wanting to remove his track pants. Whatever. Dean crawled onto the bed, giving Cas a show which he chased with his mouth but could not catch before Dean was flipped around, his back resting against some pillows piled up near the headboard. Panting and spread eagle, Dean didn’t have time for demure glances. His body was on fire and needed to be filled and fucked as soon as possible. 

Castiel crawled over him, and Dean allowed it. Castiel craned his head down to kiss him and Dean tasted himself all over Cas’s lips. Castiel brushed his thumb lightly over on of Dean’s nipples, and Dean shuddered, then commandeered the hand, singling out the pointer and middle fingers and running them down behind his cock and balls, and inserting them neatly into his channel like they were just another sex toy. Castiel groaned into his mouth and immediately began to explore the softness of Dean’s interior. Dean closed his eyes and tried his hardest to fuck Cas’s fingers with a discernible rhythm, because as nice as the surprise lollipop blowjob had been, he was past the point of wanting to be teased. Cas complied, of course, because they were basically psychically connected at this point. He reached into Dean, crooking his fingers until Dean’s back began arching farther and farther off the pillows. In a fit of either clairvoyance or genius, Cas switched out his hands and used the wet one to pull on Dean’s cock one last time.

“Oh fuuuuuck.” Dean groaned as he came. 

Dean had never dabbled in the kind of drugs that people claimed would make sex  _ so amazing _ because they were illegal, unregulated, and most of the sex he had had was already pretty awesome. This orgasm, however, made him rethink that decision, though it wasn’t the way anyone had ever described ecstacy to him. It was more like he had taken something to help him focus, or to keep his wits about him so that his mind was present and ready to feel every electric pulse of pleasure in every nerve ending that had been activated that evening.

He looked up, still reeling, to see that Cas’s head had lolled to the side, and there was a telltale wet spot at the top of the bulge in his pants. Dean’s orgasm brain coaxed him to move. He muscled his alpha around into his old position, and stripped off his pants and boxer briefs. His alpha’s cock was perfect, but he was too blissed out to be annoyed that he hadn’t gotten to feel it inside him. Instead he began to clean it up with his tongue. Castiel’s eyes went wide as he watched Dean go down on his spent cock. Dean admired his handiwork, and the taste of Cas, bitter like a citrus rind.

As Dean finished, he literally  _ felt _ Cas’s antsy desire to slip away, as if one good screw could have freed them from the fact that Dean’s limbic system could now sense Cas’s intentions just by proximity. Dean huffed in annoyance, straddled his alpha and unceremoniously inserted the just-hard-enough penis into himself, sighing contentedly as he laid himself over his bondmate and scented him, consciously, for the first time.

“Huh. Vetiver.” He mumbled into Cas’s throat.

“What?” Cas whispered, all thoughts of leaving abandoned when it involved possibly disturbing the comfort of his omega.

“You smell like vetiver. Go to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I believe the end is nigh.  
> If you don't like waiting, I apologize. In the meantime, might I interest you in a fully finished destiel AU fic that is unfortunately not set in the a/b/o universe*? 
> 
> *see Winchester Iron or I'm a Creep, for sex or The Big Store or Bunker 41 for cuddling/comedy. There's also a pretty epic Johnlock/Spiceworld mash-up that is very much safe for work*
> 
> I don't know if it's super lame to put that in the notes, but hey whatevs. I can handle being labeled.


	20. Pancakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I'm SO excited that today is the first day of school. I had SO much fun writing again. I love the school year. I love the winter. I love it all. Love for everyone. Free love.

Castiel stared at a plain ceiling which featured a light fixture that resembled a creamy white, translucent breast and nipple. His body was complaining and he felt ravenously hungry, but he didn't want to move yet for fear of... well nearly anything and everything that could possibly ensue.

He felt their  _ bond _ . His role in it was a hot desire to impregnate, provide and protect, boiling like an overfull kettle of oil, threatening searing pain at the slightest upset. It was so much more intrusive than Jimmy (if Jimmy had even been real). There had been no biting, no tearing, no discussions, no longing looks, and absolutely no tacit understanding that they were meant to be together, and yet here they were. The bond was whispering sweet nothings:  _ Dean chose you! You chose Dean! You are preordained! Predestined! This is right. _ But that was just biology and pheromones. Wasn’t it? 

“Please, can you worry about this quieter? And, you know, ten years from now, maybe?” Dean groaned. 

“I’m being perfectly silent.” Castiel spoke in his lowest voice, to illustrate how quiet he could be, even while speaking. He was careful not to move a muscle.

“Sure, you’re not moving. Doesn’t mean I didn’t hear you wake up and start flipping out. It’s like a bunch of bees just took a wrong turn into my head.” Dean was facing Castiel, lying on his side, his eyes still closed. Castiel spared him a glance, but looked away quickly so that he couldn’t dwell on how yourthful and angelic Dean was when he appeared to be sleeping. 

“Bees?” Was he hurting his omega?

“I can’t explain it. It’s like watching a video of a beehive with the sound off. Then with the video off. Whatever’s left. I dunno. The spirit of angry bees.” Dean harumphed his whole body towards the headboard and hugged a pillow. “Like sentient static.” He declared.

Cas could hear in his voice that Dean was quite pleased with his analogy. Only, when Dean was done talking, Cas could hear something else. Something that clearly wasn’t a physical soundwave, but more like the memory of a sound that had just ceased, echoing between his own two ears. Purring? Perhaps, though it seemed less insistent. 

“Ooh. You got distracted and turned them down.” Dean raised his head and squinted at Castiel with a pleased expression. 

Cas smiled, fleetingly, until he realized the purring in his mind was mechanical. Dean’s version of ‘sentient static’ came through like an idling engine, though it seemed implausible considering engines were a man made phenomenon which Castiel wouldn’t have thought could imprint into the organic universe in such a way as to be perceived through a bond.

“Is there any way,” Dean pushed up on one arm and climbed on top of Castiel, reminding him of their nakedness, which had seemed completely unremarkable just a moment before, “that I could convince you to stop thinking?” He slid his knee over Castiel’s thighs and was on all fours looking down at the alpha.

“Food.” Castiel blinked up at him. He wanted to grab and flip and rut and and pet and all the things, but his body felt like a deflated balloon. No matter how inconvenient and ill conceived he wanted to believe this pairing was, he couldn’t lose it to a few days of hard living. He wanted a choice this time, damnit!

Dean’s face broke into a big smile, and he hopped his feet onto the floor, standing up with a spring in his step. He reached for a pair of sweatpants and Cas was aware of a playful revving, as if someone was touching the gas lightly while in neutral.

“Food it is. The way to a man’s heart.” He adjusted his waistband and blushed a little before making a jerky exit.

Castiel pulled himself up to a sitting position and looked around the room. It was nothing special, in the same way Dr. Mosley’s office had been unremarkable. The smell of Dean is what made it calming and comfortable. Castiel closed his eyes and imagined Dean's scent spread over his own possessions. It was an appealing prospect. His stomach rumbled.

“Dude, I can hear you from out here. Come tell me what to cook.” Dean called from another room. The engine in Cas’s head idled softly, as if it were tentative now that Dean had issued Castiel an order. Cas rolled his eyes. He certainly wasn't going to be one of  _ those _ alphas. He found a pair of shorts that looked like his and wandered out of the bedroom.

In the hallway he nearly collided with his host,  wearing a concerned expression as he hurried back.

“Hey. Hi.” Dean breathed, awkwardly. He smiled and Cas could sense his relief as Dean's emotions shifted gears from apprehensive to shy. 

“I'm coming.” Cas assured him.

“Great. Yeah.” Dean answered, without moving. “I'll just-”

Dean didn't seem able to move from the spot, and Cas leaned over and kissed him on the mouth before his conscious brain knew what was happening. The 4th dimensional muscle car that was inside his brain began to purr at a lower register.

“Thanks. I'll just-” Dean swallowed over a surprised smile. “Back to pancakes.”

“I'm sorry.” Castiel offered, looking down.

“For what? Don't apologize.” Dean called over his shoulder. Castiel followed him into the kitchen and considered what might warrant apologies. Dean's kitchen was cool and dry and smelled of citrus.

“I apologize for the… bees?” Castiel hedged. It felt better than saying “bond” and somehow implicating Dean as a co conspirator. Dean scrambled an egg into his flour mixture, in a bowl on the island.

“Don't do that.” He mixed faster . “Hey, do I sound like anything? In your head?”

“The Impala.” Cas decided out loud.

“Seriously? That's awesome.” He tipped milk into the bowl and whisked some more. 

“Is it?” Castiel failed to see how any of this could be perceived by Dean as ‘awesome’.

“Yes.” Dean pointed his spatula at his guest and tried to look stern. “You can scent again. That's awesome.” 

Castiel approached the small kitchen island, and perched on a high stool next to it. He tried not to scowl, but Dean was already rolling his eyes when Cas began to speak.

“There are many unknown variables in regards to my recovery. I don't want to celebrate prematurely.” 

“Mm. No comment.” Dean wiped his hands on his sweatpants and turned back to the stove.

“What if it's not just you? I haven't smelled anyone else yet. What if I can't? Or worse, I can, and I start creating scent bonds with anyone I perceive?” Castiel began to wring his hands. He looked up when he found Dean suddenly standing beside him, holding his shoulders.

“Hey.” Dean gazed into his eyes, using his otherworldly Impala to effectively cut off Castiel’s procession of worries. “It will be fine. You'll be fine.” Dean blinked. “I'll be fine. Maybe we'll be fine together. Do you want butter on your pancakes?”

“Yes, please.” Castiel nodded in thanks and spun himself gently out of Dean's hands.

Dean served them pancakes, and Castiel felt considerably better after eating. This seemed to make Dean happy, as he claimed the bees in his head had ‘got their shit together, finally.’ Castiel smiled at that, which made Dean's engine purr, which made Cas’s bees get worked up, which made Dean worked up, which made Dean snatch Castiel’s empty plate from his hands as he walked it to the sink, and grab Cas’s face between his palms to kiss him, soundly.

Kissing Dean, or more accurately, being kissed by Dean caused a feedback loop of euphoria that nearly drowned out the fact that his cock was very insistently hard. It wiped his conscious mind clean of bothersome things like logic and the inevitability of entropy, and left him calm and sort of high. Cas rocked his hips forward, and Dean mirrored the movement. It was so good, it was too good.

“It’s not going to,” Cas gasped as Dean stroked him over his shorts with teasing fingertips, “be like this forever.” He closed his eyes as he heard himself. It  _ wouldn’t  _ be like this forever. Mated couples didn’t just send each other a wink and then begin necking on the streets. Mated couples didn’t flirt with each other. Castiel wasn’t even sure he had ever seen his parents touch each other, and their bond was undeniable. Mated couples complained about catering to each other’s ruts and heats and often viewed their psychic connections as a prison warden who was constantly reminding them there was no “I” in “team” and that they were only as strong as their partner’s greatest weakness.

“So let’s capitalize.” Dean smirked. He trailed a hand down Castiel’s arm and grabbed the alpha’s hand, turning quickly to lead them to the bedroom.

“I just think-” Cas started, then restarted. “Your expectations-” he was cut off by what he could only describe as an angry veering. 

“Yeah, no, I get it.” Dean spit, as an engine protested the hotness of the road in Cas’s head. “We’re gonna have some sex, and you’re gonna get better and become this amazing, sophisticated, confident guy and we’re gonna have to break the bond because I’m too young or too immature or you don’t want to take advantage of me or we have nothing in common or whatever you come up with.” Dean had pulled Castiel into the bedroom and playfully pushed him onto the bed, on his back. “But this right here-” Dean ran his hands up Castiel’s toned abdominals, “is all that I get out of this clusterfuck, so let’s just worry about all that other shit later.”  Dean splayed out over Castiel, crushing his erection and nuzzling his head to scent Castiel’s neck. 

“You could have all the sex you want. I don't’ understand-” Dean cut him off by sitting up and scoffing loudly. He was straddling Castiel’s thighs and he was gloriously naked. Castiel wasn’t even sure when Dean had stripped out of his sweatpants. Had he served Cas breakfast in the nude?

“You don’t get it, man. This bond- It feels like somebody  _ loves  _ me.” Dean slid off the bed, taking Castiel’s shorts with him. Castiel watched with a crease in his forehead “This is why people with broken bonds become junkies. This is the good stuff, and I want to enjoy it so you need to stop-”

Castiel opened his mouth to protest. He wanted to argue the logic of everything Dean had predicted, because even though Dean had stated it plainly, the bond had balked at the mentions of breaking, just as it had swelled and warmed at the mention of love.

“ _ Alpha.” _ Dean silenced Castiel with a word that contained so much power, Castiel wasn’t even sure if Dean had spoken it aloud or simply manifested it between them like a clap of thunder. “I  _ need  _ you.”

With that, Castiel surrendered. That is, he surrendered the bees and the misgivings and the logic. His physical self reached forward for Dean and dragged him down onto the bed beside him. His physical self licked and sucked sloppily down Dean’s body until he reached his outstanding omega cock. His physical self stroked said cock while continuing back until he was licking and sucking at Dean’s hole, ensuring that it was loose enough and wet enough to receive exactly what Dean was so sure that he needed.

“ _ Yes, Cas.” _ Dean moaned. The omega wiggled his ass up off the bed so that Castiel could delve deeper. Castiel tasted Dean, and felt Dean, and heard Dean panting, and in his mind the Impala that puppeted Dean’s emotions seemed to be growling,  _ alpha, alpha, alpha.  _ When Dean’s psychic chanting had peaked, Castiel flipped them around once more, laying himself back on the mattress and pulling Dean up over him.

“ _ Take.” _ He ordered in his rusty alpha voice. Dean shivered, and let his eyes roll back. His back straightened as he knelt over Castiel’s hips, and he let his head roll to the side, his eyes closed.  Castiel watched this with a puzzled expression, while waves of euphoria radiated over the bond, pulsing like electricity through his fingers and his groin, and rendering his cock even more insistent. 

“I just came on your alpha voice.” Dean laughed out, softly, with a slight head shake to indicate disbelief.

Sure enough, Castiel’s eyes traveled down Dean’s body to find come oozing down the spit-slick member of his partner. Despite how badly Cas wanted to be taken, ridden and used until he too could find release, he had no complaints about witnessing Dean in this state due to a solitary utterance.

Luckily, Castiel’s pride was all Dean needed to surge back to arousal. He gathered the slick and come from his cock and slid it down Castiel’s much wider erection, then mounted his alpha with gusto. They were connected, alpha inside omega, and the bond nearly howled with satisfaction to the point where neither man remembered at first that movement was a large part of the sex act. Finally, Dean groaned, and leaned forward, trapping his rehardening cock between them and snaking his hands up into Castiel’s hair. Castiel smiled as Dean traced his fingers over his scalp, and rocked his hips, lifting Dean closer to his mouth. Dean sighed with pleasure. Castiel rocked again, and their mouths met. 

They kissed like teenagers at a drive-in. Castiel brought his hands up Dean’s sides and began running his fingers over Dean’s back, mimcing the fingers in his own hair. Their kiss would break whenever one of them smiled, then reignite as Dean nipped on Castiel’s lower lip, then teased it with his tongue. All the while Cas was consistently rolling into Dean, yet the sexual bliss was so rhythmic and in sync with the pulsing pleasure of their bond that it was nearly forgotten for the sake of their making out, which featured teasing and exploration that defied repetition. 

Eventually, after Castiel felt Dean’s lips were suitably wrecked, plump and red with stimulation, he kissed his way over the omega’s strong chin until he reached his neck. There Castiel found he could finally smell Dean, or at least, differentiate the notes of Dean’s scent more than “fruity” or “melon”. Dean was apples, cinnamon and blood orange. The omega groaned above him as he felt Cas drinking in his essence. Cas licked over his scent gland, and put his mouth around it. A bite would only serve to complicate whatever obstacles their future held, but he could mark his omega.  He could scent him and fuck him and leave proof of their bond for everyone to witness. He sucked at the spot, where Dean’s neck met his trapezius, and his hips began to rock harder, and faster. 

Castiel could feel his knot, a strange sensation as it twinged at Dean’s hole. The last time he’d experienced a knot it had been caught inside a cold, rubber facsimile. Dean groaned and gasped and squeezed at Cas’s bicep in what the bond firmly stated was ecstacy. It certainly was on Cas’s end. He wanted it to last forever, as much as he needed to come, though he was nearly annoyed at his selfish desire to ejaculate in, and tie Dean just to prove he was whole again. 

“ _ Do it, Cas. Knot me. I need it _ .” Dean whispered, confidently. It was all Cas needed. Suddenly his vision whited out as his brain ceased processing input from anything but the knot at the base of his penis. Dean had clamped down over it, catching it harshly before it erupted inside of the omega, growing in all the right ways to sate their needs, physical, emotional, psychic or otherwise. 

When Castiel found himself back in his body, with a consciousness that accepted input from more than just his dick, he marveled at the indescribable sensation that had moved like a fog from his head to his chest and taken up residence in the area of his heart.  _ Dean feels loved. _ He smiled to himself. He felt it too. Maybe he hadn’t at first because he was so broken and dried up. Dean wasn’t old and impotent. Dean had felt it and Cas should have trusted him, but it didn’t matter now. They were tied together for an unknown amount of time.  They were face to face and high on a bond and there were people in the world who had never had that, and would never have that. 

“Uhg. Your happy bees are cute, and I feel gross thinking that.” Dean broke Cas’s concentration by stroking his five-o-clock shadow with his thumb, and kissing Cas on his cheekbone, tenderly. 

“Yes, well. Your happy Impala is going to put me to sleep.”

“Take a nap, old man. When you wake up I’ll make you a sandwich.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have added one more chapter. It will be epilogue-ish, in that it will be small vignettes that jump back and forth between POV. It kind of doesn't seem fair to end just on one character, or the other. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you that are reading this right after I post it had a really great Labor Day holiday (if you're American) or just a nice regular weekend. 
> 
> TTYsoon

**Author's Note:**

> *Wim Hof is real and has a method. I have not studied it enough to be writing about it. But I thought if anyone were interested, it would serve them better to use his real name. Sorry, Wim, for dragging you into some preachy porn!
> 
> Other nutrition info is off the top of my head remembered from listening to the Kick it Naturally podcast, which I recommend.
> 
> Hippy dippy fringe science/psychotherapy is from listening to reports on the Mysterious Universe podcast. 
> 
> While I'm struggling with the final chapter, please feel free to check out any of my previously completed Destiel fics.


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